


In A Land of Healing Miracles

by forgetmenotjimmy



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Alzheimer's Disease, Angst and Romance, Character Death Fix, Childhood Memories, Coma, Episode: s03e15 Half-Wit, Episode: s04e15 House's Head, F/M, Friendship, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Injury Recovery, M/M, Magical Realism, Medical Professionals, Near Death, Pranks and Practical Jokes, Religion, Season 3 Finale, Self-Sacrifice, Serious Injuries, Sex, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-09
Updated: 2019-04-14
Packaged: 2019-10-25 06:42:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 24,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17720090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forgetmenotjimmy/pseuds/forgetmenotjimmy
Summary: “I want my hug back.”“Get out.” But Chase just sighed.“Alright, I admit it. I’m glad you’re not dying. I’m going to hug you.”“No you’re no-” House was cut off as the young man hugged him. An intense heat bloom inside him. He was suddenly exhausted. Eyes heavy, he barely registered losing consciousness.After finding out House faked cancer for an experimental pain treatment, Chase decides that enough is enough.





	1. Get Out

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Healing Touch](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4577028) by [Palaserece](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Palaserece/pseuds/Palaserece). 



> “In a land of healing miracles, neighbors must not suffer and die unattended.”  
> Lyndon Baines Johnson, Inaugural address, Wednesday, January 20, 1965

He heard the others talking angrily but couldn’t quite work out what they were saying. The endorphin high from finding out House wasn’t dying had dried up with the revelation that of course he wasn’t – you idiots. He definitely wasn’t well though. No person in their right mind would go to that much trouble for an experimental treatment if the pain didn’t make it worth it. He’d known it was bad, but not that bad.

Chase came back to himself outside Foreman’s car, realising that Foreman and Cameron had already got in and were looking at him. He put a hand on the open back door but couldn’t help glancing back at House’s apartment. The age-old guilt welled up inside him. He’d learned long ago that you couldn’t help people who didn’t want to be helped – that trying to force things would only result in you getting hurt and them resenting you. It wasn’t within his power to change the course of someone’s life – or death – only ease them down the path they were already heading.

House was the most strong-willed, independent person he’d ever met and could cut him down with a mere look – not to mention fire him. Knowing all that, however, didn’t change his sudden resolve. He’d been fighting his instincts, his burning desire to step in and help, since he’d realised that he respected his razor-tongued boss. Again and again he’d reminded himself what terrible things would likely happen if he tried to intervene. Yet, all those perfectly reasonable rationales had withered and died under the inferno of House’s apparent death sentence.

In between desperately searching for proof that House could qualify for the clinical trial with at least a chance for a longer life, Chase had tortured himself with the idea that if he’d tried to help with House’s chronic pain, maybe he would have been able to sense the tumour. Which could have led to an early enough diagnosis.

“Chase?” He turned back to look at Cameron’s concerned face.

“I think I’m gonna walk back. Need to clear my head.” Frowning even further, she countered.

“Are you sure? It’s the middle of the night.”

“I’ll be fine. See you on Monday.” He said firmly, before shutting the car door and walking in the direction of the hospital. He walked for about 10 minutes and found an all-night diner. He ordered some large pastries and extra-strong coffees before doubling back. Foreman’s car was gone from House’s street when he reached it and the lights were off in the apartment. Purposefully not thinking about his decision – lest he chicken out – he retrieved the spare key and let himself in. The light was on in the bathroom so he deposited his bag on the hallway dresser and waited.

…

Cursing the meddling do-gooders, House gripped the sides of the sink and breathed through the pain. Since the ducklings had unwittingly sabotaged his plan, it had flared up and he’d given up on trying to sleep. Instead he’d cancelled his flight and gone to the bathroom, splashing his face with water and avoiding looking at himself in the eye. He told himself that he definitely did not recall the looks of shock and then disgust on his employee’s faces – nor imagine how Wilson and Cuddy would greet him the next time they saw him. He rubbed his face roughly with the hand towel.

It was their own nosy faults – he’d hidden it for a reason. How could he have known that they would ferret it out and come to their own conclusions. He’d tried to stop them. Angrily, he opened the bathroom door and froze, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up. Someone was standing in his hallway.

“I want my hug back.” He knew that whiny voice anywhere. Too tired and pained to work out how the wombat had burrowed his way in, he growled.

“Get out.” He limped into his room but was unable to close the door due to the body suddenly in the way. Glaring ineffectually, he couldn’t believe the insubordination. He was about to start whacking his cane when Chase sighed.

“Alright, I admit it. I’m glad you’re not dying. I’m going to hug you.”

“No you’re no-” House was cut off as the young man hugged him. To his surprise, he didn’t push the limpet away, the idea coming into his head but then leaving again. Instead he stood there, feeling an intense heat bloom inside him. He was exhausted. Eyes heavy, he barely registered losing consciousness.

…

He was unbearably hot. Lying in the shade wasn’t protecting him from the air roasting his lungs from the inside and burning his skin; crickets chirped distantly, the dry grass scratched his skin and a limp breeze would blow every so often. Without opening his eyes, he groped for the water bottle and with much-practised skill, drank without getting up. It was much cooler inside the house, but _he_ was in there. The Ice King who glacial indifference had chipped away at any life remaining in his mother and left his and his sister adrift in a freezing and dangerous sea. He’d caught his father packing up the last of his belongings earlier and had left without waiting for an explanation. It was almost unbearably hot but he’d walk through literal fire before letting his father see just how devastated he was.

The air was stale and industrial-strength antiseptic smell bleached the inside of his nose. He felt groggy and weak but the bed was softer than the ground. He knew somehow that he was clean again. Blinking against the bright light, his eyes confirmed his suspicion; he was in a hospital. Not the ICU though, so it couldn’t be that bad – whatever was wrong with him. He held back a bitter laugh, what wasn’t wrong with him? A friendly-looking nurse came in and offered him some water. He drank greedily as she paged the attending. Then she asked him his name.

It was only then that the whole shameful chain of events slammed back into his consciousness. The stupid teenage rebellion moves, his aunt and uncle-in-law considering sending him away; deciding to run away first in fear and defiance. Staying with a friend of a friend until the money he’d drained from his current account dried up and he found himself on the street. From there it had been a short spiral down to homeless shelters, begging and performing questionable favours for food. After his phone was finally stolen, he realised that he didn’t remember anyone’s number and even if he did – would the help any of them could give really be worth the shame? He’d been contemplating this when his last hit had made him feel weird and he’d blacked out. Looking up at the sympathetic but professional face, he couldn’t find the courage to tell her. Instead he asked if there was a priest he could talk to.

The biting cold sent a shock to his system, pulling him out of the impending panic attack. Gripping the railing and closing his eyes, he breathed in deeply. The sounds of NY traffic faint down below. Images flashed before his eyes; stats dropping, eyes rolling back, limbs flailing. The green of the nurses’ smocks as they rushed around burned in his eyes and the terrible shrill of the warning tones echoed in his ears. At least they’d drowned out the awful wheezing, weak but desperate breaths. He was starting to shiver but couldn’t bring himself to go back inside.

She – the body – was in there. He’d been too slow, too hesitant to make the calls when she’d coded. He’d failed her, had failed so bad, he just wanted to stay out on the fire escape forever, but his pager beeped. Gathering his strength, he slipped back inside.

…

Opening his eyes slowly, Chase looked down at the man sleeping in the bed. It must have almost been afternoon, judging from the light filtering through the gaps in the curtains and his level of exhaustion. He’d guzzled the cold coffee and half-inhaled the soggy pastry when his hunger and fatigue had pulled him from his task some hours earlier. Luckily his patient hadn’t woken in the intermission. Now his body was once again screaming at him for nourishment and sleep. He knew from experience that he didn’t have long before he’d collapse.

Lifting his hands from House’s leg, he stumbled up and made it to the couch, half-lying, half-hanging off it. It was highly likely that House would wake before him – would be furious and suspicious. Chase was too tired to care. What’s more, he knew that whatever happened, he wouldn’t have any regrets.

…

He woke without knowing where he was. Blinking, he recognised his room, though he still needed to minute to sort out what had happened. He’d been preparing for his flight, then woken…the morons had ruined his plans! Gritting his teeth, his bladder rudely interrupted his train of thought and he got up reluctantly to relieve it. Despite feeling tired and dehydrated, he’d felt worse. It wasn’t until he was washing his hands that he remembered the intruder. Straining his ears, he stood still, concentrating. Just on the edge of his perception, he sensed something going on in the living room. As stealthily as he could, he retrieved his cane and limped to the end of the corridor. Immediately he saw the figure slumped diagonally on the couch – though millimetre by millimetre he was slowly sliding off it. Angry at the thought of his subordinate helping him into bed and more than disconcerted that he couldn’t remember it, he was further embarrassed that the man had apparently slept over. What, he’d thought House might stumble in his sleep and need a hand up? Torn between simply hitting him awake and thinking of a crueller and more unusual method, he realised that the supine body was about to lose its battle with gravity. Leaning against the wall, he counted in his head: 3, 2, 1…

Thump! Ouch. Sounded painful. Good. Adopting a cowboy accent, he drawled.

“Well, well, well. Will you lookie here? Think I got me a stowaway.” No response. Irritation spiking, he said louder. “I said I think you should get the Hell outta here.” The body on the floor didn’t so much as twitch. Concern began to creep up on his annoyance, so he poked the shapely ass firmly with the end of his cane. “Hey! Wake up!” Nothing.

Cursing that the interloper had fallen in the narrow space between the couch and the coffee table, House hobbled around and knelt stiffly. With a small sigh of relief, he found a strong carotid pulse but it was short-lived relief as through subsequent tests (i.e. pinching and flicking him in the face), he realised that his lackey was an 8 on the Glasgow Coma Scale. What the Hell? Grunting, House lunged for the phone, about to start dialling when he heard a low mutter.

“’Reeeowwsshhooodoit.” He frowned down at the body.

“Are you trying to mess with me?” No answer. “Hey!” He gave a few slight slaps to the slack face. Apart from some eye movement behind the lids, Chase didn’t react. “Get up or you’re fired!” Nothing. Putting down the phone, House leant over and pinched a nerve cluster on the inside of one of his legs, hard. There was a sharp intake of breath, a hand weakly flailed, bumping into his arm.

“Said 3 hours.” A whisper struggled up to his ears. So he wasn’t dying then. Well, he couldn’t keep poking the man all day – he had the urgent business of not going to Boston to attend to. Getting to his feet, he set about ignoring the felled wombat snoozing on his floor. It wasn’t until he was standing eating his omelette out of the pan that he realised that he hadn’t had a Vicodin yet that day. He was still using his cane and his leg still hurt, but it was more of an ache, similar to the sensation after he’d taken a few pills to take the edge off. He glanced out into the living room, just able to see the bastard’s sneakers from where he was standing.

It was a fallacy to link two events due to proximity and chronology – just because his leg was feeling better after the Nap Burglar had spent the night on his couch didn’t mean it was the cause of the unexpected pain relief. He wasn’t even sure if the pain _was_ relieved or it was an illusion. Wilson would probably blather about House being secretly touched that one of his employees had stayed to make sure he was alright – and House would counter that the asslicker’s motives had definitely not been that pure. Thinking about it, the move was actually pathetic. As if he’d win any reprieve from a suitable mocking at the next DDX.

So House had every logical reason to dismiss the very idea of a connection. Except for the dreams. The strange and vivid dreams which he recalled with a mixture of familiarity and alienness. He’d been a young boy, trying to ignore his family falling apart; then older and in a hospital – at his lowest point – until finally he’d been the doctor who’d failed to save someone. The settings, the people, the scenarios had all been new to him, but something about them…some details or aspect was very familiar…Closing his eyes, he concentrated on recalling as much as possible.

Then it hit him. The nurse…she’d been Australian. His eyes snapped open and he made his way purposefully to the shelves. His ‘guest’ slept on without stirring. Taking out the folder containing copies of his employee’s medical records, he sat at the piano and went through Chase’s file. It was as he remembered when he’d first perused it. After deciding that he’d deduced as much as he could through observation, he’d looked to confirm his deductions. Apart from a broken ankle as a teenager, Chase had never been hospitalized. Now House combed through it all for any hints that something had been covered up.

In the dream he’d – or the person he’d been – had asked for a priest so they were religious (at least in that moment). He turned to the records from the British GP near the Seminary Chase had attended. The check-up had recovered everything as normal except…Chase, Robert, has been underweight – not enough to be worrying but enough for the doctor to add a note to monitor his weight. That was the only evidence and it was hardly conclusive.

Sighing, he closed the file again and looked over at the lump on the floor. He could either wait 3 hours or…save from actually going Down Under and tracking down any potential informants, his only other option was to call around. Starting with possibly the only person left from Chase’s childhood – and also his medical proxy – Aunt Julie. It was still early enough to ring. A prim female voice answered, there was a child’s voice shouting in the background but the woman didn’t seem harried or embarrassed by it. House launched into his hastily constructed excuse for asking questions about her distant nephew’s childhood health. Although initially suspicious, he won her round with some jargon and assurances.

“He’s only participating in the study as part of the control group… yes the side effects are very mild…we have already asked him but we want to speak to all the medical proxies, just to make sure nothing was missed in the histories.” His efforts bore fruit. Turns out dear, sweet Robbie had a dark smear across his otherwise spotless record. He ran away a few months after coming to live with her. House heard the lingering guilt in her voice: probably at not being able to help a grieving child and feeling glad when he’d left.

Apparently he’d only been missing a few weeks when he’d turned up in A&E in Melbourne. Unfortunately, Aunt Julie didn’t know many details as Daddy Chase had swept in to perform damage control. The next she knew, Robbie was returning from Seminary in England a new person; quiet, respectful and determined to become a doctor. He tried to tease out a few more tidbits about young Dr Chase’s past from her before hanging up. Whilst interesting, this new data didn’t prove anything. His dream could have just been a construction from his exhausted mind. It didn’t mean anything.

He checked on the comatose wallaby…still not responding fully to aural or pain stimuli, but not unresponsive enough to warrant a trip to the hospital. Reflexively, he searched the intruder’s pockets. All he turned up was keys, phone, wallet, pager and some gum. House spent the next two hours watching TV, drinking scotch and balancing various things on the upturned face and neck. Paper clips, a coaster, the gum packet and whatever change he could find lying around. He’d just put another cent on the prominent nose when the sleeping bear twitched, the cent sliding off.

A hoarse groan escaped parted lips and he turned over onto his side, sending the small mountain of stationery cascading to the wooden floor. Listening carefully once everything had settled, House deduced that his employee’s breathing meant that he was just sleeping. He poked him with his cane, this time eliciting an annoyed grunt. Doing it again prompted a whine.

“Leave me alone.”

“No, you leave _me_ alone, gate-crasher.” Chase opened his eyes and lifted his head, frowning.

“What?”

“You were not invited to this or any shindig here, ever.” By this time the intruder was sitting up stiffly, rubbing his face and looking around.

“You’re just watching TV in your pyjamas.” House picked up the glass of scotch.

“And drinking. That makes it a party.” Now fully awake, Chase looked intently at House, evidently searching for a specific reaction. So he _had_ done something. Thinking about it, he had passed out pretty quickly after the whole hugging business. Perhaps Chase was as sneaky and two-faced as Cameron after all.

“What did you drug me with?” Those plump pink lips opened and closed seemingly unconsciously before answering.

“You already know what.”

“Ketamine.” Hesitantly, the traitor nodded and House’s self-righteous anger flared.

“You had no right! How dare you interfere in my business, with my body!” The accused gulped nervously but made no attempt to defend himself. “I should have you arrested, deported back like the criminal you are.” At this Chase stood and House followed suit, advancing a few steps until they were barely inches apart. “Well? What the Hell got into you to make you attack me? Someone put you up to it? Cuddy?”

“No…” Chase said calmly but firmly. Then his expression softened. “I didn’t know it was that bad, the pain.” Temper well and truly lost by the small show of pity, House whispered viciously.

“Get out.” Picking up his coat from the back of the couch, Chase complied wordlessly. When he was at the door, House yelled after him. “And don’t come in on Monday because you’re fired!” That made him pause, but he recovered and left before House could say anything else. Breathing heavily in the silence, House waited until he was calmer before going off to find the syringe.


	2. Why Me?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Convinced of the miracle healing powers, naturally House wants to know everything.

When he finally arrived back at the brownstone he’d bought when he’d first moved to Princeton, Chase forced himself to ignore the couch and the bed. Instead he got out his laptop and settled at the dining room table. He still felt sluggish and achy but told himself that he’d survived worse. For a moment, he toyed with the idea of flying home. He missed the sun and the heat and the people – more laidback, friendly and just familiar. It was tempting, but he knew why he couldn’t return there to work.

Maybe he could just disappear completely. Get on a plane and go somewhere remote and exotic. Since the shock of being denied his inheritance had worn off and he’d figured out how to budget properly, he’d managed to save a fair amount of money. It would last him a long time if he went somewhere cheap. No, he still had time left on his work visa here, it would be stupid to waste it. He started searching for ICU and general surgeon jobs close by. He didn’t want to sell the house but there wasn’t anything in Princeton. He considered renting it out, then he’d always have an easy way back…

Sighing, he clicked through some job applications and tried to be firm with himself. House wasn’t easily placated; when the anger faded, he would start questioning everything and come up empty on some important points. It was probably for the best if he left and never came back. Surviving was what he did best; looking out for himself however he could. He’d be fine. Alone, like always, but fine.

His phone rang and he almost jumped in surprise. Almost no one ever called him so he’d forgotten which ring tone he had. It was Cameron. Probably checking on him…maybe he’d worried her with his weird behaviour the night before. He really wasn’t in the mood to reassure anyone of his wellbeing – i.e. lie – but at the same time, it wouldn’t be polite to ignore it, possibly worrying her even more.

“Chase? How are you?”

“Tired, still pissed off but otherwise fine. You?”

“I’m fine. Angry but okay.” There was an awkward pause which he made no effort to fill. Eventually, she went on. “I just can’t believe he’d do that.”

“I can.” Chase muttered.

 “I know he’s in pain, but faking cancer? Going to such extremes, fooling all those people on the trial…which is for terminal patients! I mean…” She continued in this vein for a while and he tuned her out, still looking through job adverts. There was something in Seattle which looked okay.

“Don’t you agree?” His subconscious prodded him out of his contemplation and he started.

“Huh? Oh, yeah, erm listen Cameron, I’ve got to uh,”

“Yeah, sure.” She interrupted, sounding sheepish. “Sorry for off-loading on you.” Feeling bad, as he often did when talking to her, he offered.

“No, it’s okay. Of all the things he’s done over the years, this was extreme.”

“So you _do_ think we should do something.” She said triumphantly. Had that been what she’d been angling for? A co-conspirator? How did she still manage to blindside him with her soft, unassuming voice? He didn’t even have the excuse of her flashing her doe eyes at him this time. He almost laughed a little meanly, whatever she had in mind would be nowhere near as effective as _his_ plan.

Opening his mouth to give some excuse, he was startled by a banging on his front door. Dread filled him as he considered the small number of people it could be. The knock had sounded like wood on wood, which would probably mean… Shit. Into the phone he said quickly.

“I’ve really gotta go.”

“Do you want to meet up later for a drink? We could discuss how to handle-” By this time he was standing at the door, staring at it. The banging came again – demanding and thunderous. It also had a faint air of incredulity, as if it couldn’t believe that it had been kept waiting. Chase opened the door and House hardly waited for it to finish opening, instead muscling his way past a stunned Australian.

“Where is it?”

“Who is that?”

“Uh.” Chase said intelligently. Overwhelmed, he could only stare as House stomped into his living room and began rooting around.

“The syringe! Where is it?” Brain caught up, Chase said into the phone.

“I’ll call you back.”

“Was that Hou-” He hung up and began trying to talk down his pissed off ex-boss.

“I ditched it.” Growling, House rounded on him.

“You don’t just have one syringe, where’s the vial?” Damn. Things just got even messier. He could either try and fool the Human Lie Detector, forcibly remove him from his home or…

Dr Gregory House didn’t believe in anything but the cold, hard truth and had an obsession with uncovering all kinds of truths and parading them in front of their keepers. To deny him the truth of what Chase had done to him would probably be one of the cruellest things you could do to a man like that. Despite all the shit he’d had to endure in the last few years, Chase didn’t even consider it. He sighed and tried to be grateful that at least the man could be discreet and wouldn’t lock him away in a lab forever.

“Sit down.” House opened his mouth to argue but Chase just folded his arms. “I’ll tell you everything, answer any questions you have, give you a demo if you want. Just sit down.” Eying him suspiciously, House sat down in the armchair. Chase retrieved his penknife from the hallway dresser and then sat down on the couch. He took in a deep breath and said. “There was no Ketamine or any other drug. I healed some of your nerves with my hands.” House thought that over and then leant forward.

“Funny, I don’t remember reading you had a history of mental illness in your file.” Without reacting, Chase handed House the penknife.

“Guess we’ll go straight to the demo part.”

“Magic tricks now? I’ll stab you and you’ll magically heal yourself?”

“No, you’re going to give yourself a small cut and I’m going to heal you.”

“If you want to convince someone of something crazy,” House put the penknife down and got out his bike keys, “you need to be good at improvising.” He pressed the sharp edge against his palm and made a small cut, wincing but not crying out.

“For a cynic, you’re awfully quick to agree to be convinced.”

“The sooner I show you’re talking out of your ass, the sooner you’ll come clean and-” He stopped talking as Chase took his hand. “Ah, ah, sleeves.” Chase sighed and rolled them up before holding his hands up for inspection. House examined them and then nodded. He watched silently as Chase took his hand back and closed his eyes. _Here goes nothing._

Chase concentrated, stretching out his awareness to map out the damage in his mind. Then he summoned his strength and ordered the skin to knit back together. He felt the familiar burning heat in his hands and registered House’s alarm before the flash of a memory distracted him. Then the cut was healed and he let go, sitting back down, breathing heavily. After recovering his breath, he looked over at House who was staring at him.

“You play the violin.” He murmured before looking down at his hand and examining the healed skin. Eyes sharp, he looked up again. “I’m hallucinating.” Chase just raised his eyebrows; House had enough experience to be able to tell. Blood draining from his face, House tried: “I’m dreaming.” He glanced around the room, as if expecting the furniture to jump up and start singing a musical number. Chase just waited, knowing that the most compelling evidence was seeing and hearing and feeling.

He was right; once House accepted that it was reality, the questions came fast. How long have you been able to do it? What exactly are you doing and how? Who else knows? Who else can do it too?

Although he said that he’d answer the man’s questions, in actuality he couldn’t really say all that much because he didn’t know all that much. Of course he’d always been curious about his abnormal abilities and had researched it heavily – especially just after starting medical school. As far as he could tell, there was no reliable record of similar phenomenon or any scientific explanation for what he could do.

As a child, he’d believed it a gift from God and dreamed about becoming a saint – travelling the world, healing the sick and wounded and spreading His love. But then he’d realised that no matter how many times he healed his mother’s liver, she would never stop damaging it. He didn’t know how to heal the scars in her mind and by the time she’d died, he’d hated her illness, her inability to pull herself together for him and his sister; hated his father for not being there, but more than all that, hated himself for failing and for keeping on trying, even when he knew it was futile.

He didn’t have a gift; it was a joke, a taunt. Punishment for his arrogance. He stopped exploring the limits, stopped practising on animals and comatose patients he used to visit when hanging out at his father’s hospital, half-hoping to run into him and half-afraid to. His depression and rage lead to risky and sinful behaviour and eventually, the streets of Melbourne.

He told House a highly edited version of the story, aware of the man’s x-ray vision when it came to lies.

“You just gave up?” Sliding him an exasperated look, Chase explained.

“I got back into it once I started my first residency and trusted myself to be able to explain any unexpected recoveries. Still had to be careful, the longer I heal someone, the more of my memories they see.” He looked down at his hands, admitting quietly. “At my last job in Aus the nurses started getting suspicious…it’s why I accepted the first position I could get over here. They managed to rush through my visa and I haven’t been back since.”

“You can’t believe that anyone would lock you up if they found out.”

“I can’t be the only one, so where are the others?”

“You think they’ve been stuffed in secret research facilities?” Chase shrugged.

“The point is that I don’t know and even if there aren’t, people knowing you can heal with a touch would make getting through the day in peace pretty impossible.”

“You could get an agent.” House returned flippantly before continuing casually. “If I get some free time, I could-”

“No. No experiments.” Chase interrupted, having predicted House’s scientific interest. Ignoring his mock-offended expression, he went on quietly. “I only told you because not knowing would have driven you crazy.”

“Riiight, you did all this for me.”

“Because I know you can keep a secret.” Chase continued, ignoring House’s insinuation; especially because it was true. “I just healed the worst of the damage and regenerated some nerve and muscle growth. It’ll still hurt.”

“Why not all of it? Got some lingering resentment?”

“How could either of us have explained it healing overnight? Plus, I don’t have limitless energy.”

“What’s the most you’ve ever done at once?” House asked curiously. Chase considered.

“Healed a kidney once. Both were boxed and they couldn’t qualify for a transfer so I snuck into the ICU just after shift change and healed it. Almost made it without being caught too. I managed to get to an on-call room and slept right through till my next shift. The attending came up with some explanation but one of the nurses saw me leaving the room and started asking questions.” He didn’t explain that was the shift which had pushed him to emigrate halfway around the world, trusting that House would get the inference.

“But if you had time to recover in between, you could heal practically anything.”

“Only physical symptoms.”

“But you could.” Stomach sinking, Chase recognised House’s tone, understood his unspoken question.

“Chronic conditions with a psychological aspect I can’t…” His throat closed up, his mother’s face swimming in his vision. He hadn’t ever expressed out loud his early failures and missteps and was embarrassed by his inability to say them now. House was too busy taking offence at his insinuation to notice.

“I’m in chronic pain, I’m not imagining it.”

“Get off the Vicodin and then we’ll see.”

“No, I order you to heal it.” Chase just snorted.

“Don’t work for you anymore.”

“You’re un-fired.” Chase just shook his head. “What?” House demanded. “You’re just going to show me a glimpse of what could be and then fuck off into the sunset? Was that your revenge?”

“No.” Chase blurted angrily. “I don’t have to listen to your pity party anymore.” He started pacing. “You were in a Hell of a lot of pain and now you’ll just be in a lot of pain. I was giving you a chance at a normal life. Don’t twist it.” House’s eyes flashed and he stood in Chase’s path.

“Normal?” He had a few inches on the other man and used them to his advantage. “You have no idea what it’s like-”

“You don’t know what it _will_ be like.”

“That’s not an argument.”

“Give it a chance. Try it for three months and then tell me if you need more.” Obviously enraged but clear-headed enough to recognise that the Australian was not budging, House considered and tried.

“Two weeks.” Chase crossed his arms, unimpressed.

“10.”

“4.”

“10.”

“4.”

“10.” Growling, House countered again.

“Come on! 6.” Twisting his lip, Chase offered.

“8.” Grunting in annoyance, House snapped.

“6 and not a day more.” Chase held out his hand and said.

“6 and a half.” Taking the hand but shaking his head, House muttered.

“Petty, but you got a deal.” They shook once, House experiencing half a sense-memory of Chase’s hands on him. Chase didn’t let go of him though, saying.

“And you promise no trying to force me into healing anyone or experimenting on me.”

“Define ‘experiment’.”

“House. You can ask me questions and do your own research, but if you drug me, or steal my blood or anything else without my explicit permission, then I’ll leave.”

“But can I still go potty when I want?” Chase was unmoved by the petulant response so House sighed, saying mockingly. “Fine. I’ll respect your autonomy.” Still looking stern, Chase finally let his hand go and after a moment, began to feel self-conscious in his sweats, with House in his home. Looking out of place himself, House nodded in a business-like way.

“See you Monday.” And then he left. Chase wandered back to his laptop and made to shut it. He hesitated and saved some the job searches before powering it down and going for a sorely needed nap.

…

Apart from some sourness from Cameron and Foreman, a withering and disappointed stare from Cuddy and another sermon from his oncologist life-coach, it was business as usual on Monday. Chase was a little tense and stiff around him but the others attributed this to the same sense of betrayal they felt. House set about behaving like nothing had happened, which had the dual purpose of pissing off two ducklings and reassuring the third. After he’d left the ‘healer’s’ place, he’d spent the rest of the weekend furiously doing his own research, both on the topic of miracle cures or recoveries and about his Australian mystery. The former yielded no firm leads but after calling around he managed to establish that if Chase had been using his magic hands Down Under, it hadn’t been on his own patients. No, the wombat was too clever for that.

Once House had changed his line of enquiry and narrowed it down to the hospitals Chase had worked at, he managed to discover about a dozen ‘lucky’ or ‘miracle’ recoveries: a few unexpected cancer remissions, a donated heart being rejected suddenly being accepted by the recipient, some trauma injuries turning out to be less serious than first thought and a kidney somehow healing itself. The attending had assumed that the first test determining kidney function had been wrong and the medicine prescribed had helped.

It was possible that they really were due to human error or the patient’s body being more resilient than expected, so plausible that there was no real way to see a pattern – especially as House hadn’t been there and observed Chase’s movements and energy levels. More than once he’d devised tests and then discarded the ideas – knowing that the subject would never agree. He had to tread carefully and he hated it. It turned out that the asslicker _did_ have a hard limit and it was having people mess with his super-secret healing powers.

Part of the reason that House threw himself into research was to distract himself from contemplating the philosophical ramifications of the revelation. How could he fit _this_ into his rational world view? There was no such thing as God, unicorns or mystical healing powers, and yet he’d seen and _felt_ empirical proof. Lying in his bed on Sunday evening, he came to the conclusion that there was a scientific explanation, he just didn’t know it yet. He’d bide his time and figure out a way to convince the mystery to participate in some studies – for science!

So he acted like everything was normal, like he didn’t have his secret project – no reason he couldn’t hypothesise and ask questions to draw up plans – and also like his leg wasn’t starting to feel better. He wasn’t an idiot; he knew the pain was partially psychosomatic – so some of the reduction of pain he attributed to the new puzzle, one of life’s mysteries that almost no one even knew existed. However, after running some tests on himself and examining his leg, he concluded that there had been some physical changes. Some nerves and muscles had regrown. He initiated some of his own exercises to strengthen the new additions and admitted – only to himself – that his leg was better.

Wilson had noticed but House had managed to convince him it was his new found ‘desire to be happy’. He just needed to wait another month and then he could get another hit from wonder boy.

Speaking of whom, after his defences had lowered and a false sense of security successfully fostered – House struck like a cobra. His questions were lightening quick and out of the blue. As long as they were alone and no one was dying, the poor mouse put up with them, answering as best as he could. With only a few days to go till the agreed deadline, House cornered him in the lab while the others were searching the patient’s home. He began without preamble.

“Why me?” It had been playing on his mind since the beginning and he was almost sure he knew the answer, but still part of him had been hesitant to ask. Chase put down the slide he’d been holding.

“Don’t break my conditions and I won’t squelch on the deal.” Tapping the top of his cane, House countered.

“That’s not what I asked.” Chase sighed and picked up the slide again, putting it under the microscope. Quietly, he said into the silent lab.

“I like you.” House took a moment to process that, then he looked around the room as he pressed.

“Okay, but what does that mean?”

“Negative for-”

“Don’t change the subject.” Chase looked up from the scope and explained slowly.

“I mean that I like you as a person.”

“Enough to risk everything?” House asked incredulously. Chase’s expression didn’t change as he said firmly.

“Yes.” The door opened behind House and he cursed the idiots with the terrible timing.

“No mould or spores but we did find-” Cameron hesitated as she looked between them. “Are we interrupting something?” Pushing down his supreme annoyance, House feigned nonchalance.

“Just checking Dr Dreamy here isn’t sneaking off to give any nurses a cheeky physical.” Chase looked another suggestive comment away from rolling his eyes but otherwise ignored it. Foreman followed suit and updated them on their finding. House put together the new data and sent them off to treat and test. He then went to find Wilson to be distracted for a while.

…

As predicted, Cameron started in with the questioning as soon as they were alone. Chase was already in a bad mood from House’s interrogation so his tolerance was severely lowered.

“Just drop it.” He snapped, heart plummeting as it had the opposite effect than intended. Her eyes lit up.

“So there _is_ something going on between you two.” Although he was fairly confident that she’d never guess the real situation, her interest was still dangerous. All three of the fellows had discussed why House seemed to be doing better pain-wise lately. Chase as usual offering a flippant response, glad for his reputation as an uncaring jerk. Foreman thought that their boss had managed to score some ever better – read illegal – drugs and Cameron had some complicated theory about the power of caring or something. Chase hadn’t really listened but later wished he’d had, because although at first it seemed like she believed that the voice she’d heard at his place had been someone else, she was watching him and House like a hawk.

It made the occasional sex they had a little awkward as he wondered if she was analysing him even in bed. As far as Chase was concerned, House wasn’t acting any differently towards him and he didn’t think he was either – but she was still suspicious. This had got worse as House had started jumping on him with questions, not so much Cameron noticing exactly what he was doing – House usually had better timing – more picking up on Chase’s increased tension around his boss. When he’d agreed to the deal, he’d been realistic in predicting House driving rough shed over his personal privacy but preparing for something and actually experiencing it were two very different things. Especially when it came to House.

Cameron’s nosiness just made it worse, even if she was so far off the mark with her ‘analysis’ of House and his issues. She’d correctly deduced that he did have a heart and was afraid of getting close to people in case they hurt him, but her solution: to make him open up and be more trusting was doomed to fail and almost insulting.

House was grown man, despite hardly ever acting like one, and attempting to ‘fix’ him was presuming she had some responsibility for him, that she had any authority over him. Which was irritating. House cared, what did it matter how he did or didn’t show it? It was no one else’s business but his own. The other reason for Chase’s annoyance was his own feeling of authority on the subject of House. He had been there the longest after all, had spent the most amount of time taking his shit and seeing his genius; and learning, really learning from him. House wasn’t going to change, especially not for Cameron.

Looking at her determined expression in the locker room, he knew that she wasn’t going to be placated by a flimsy excuse. He cursed his lack of preparing for this scenario – having thought that she would have been too focused on her own relationship with their boss – and devised something quickly.

“After we found out about him lying, I told him that I wanted to quit.”

“What? Why? He’s abused you for years and _this_ is the final straw? He lied to all of us.” Sighing, he let some pain show on his face.

“I just…it felt too much like when my dad…” He trailed off, hoping that she’d fill in the blanks. She didn’t disappoint, her face scrunched up in sympathy and she touched his arm.

“I’m sorry.” She’d said the same thing when his father had actually died and he had felt no more comforted then. He shook his head wordlessly and thanked the Lord as Foreman came into the locker room. He paused when he saw them but didn’t comment as Cameron took her hand back.

“The patient’s responding well, symptoms are clearing up.” Chase feigned pulling himself together and acknowledged Foreman’s news, leaving the two to speculate.

The next few days continued as normal, except for House catching Chase and Cameron in the janitor’s closet. Then the agreed deadline arrived and House turned up on his door step at midnight. Chase couldn’t even find it within himself to be surprised, instead waving the man in and putting the kettle on. Ever since his stint in England, he’d never underestimated the power of a cup of tea.

House sat at his kitchen table and didn’t say anything as he was served a cup. Chase joined him and they drank in silence for a while.

“I want to be able to run again.” House said finally. “I’m down to four Vicodin a day.” Chase nodded.

“You thought of an explanation?”

“Ketamine is a good one. I could pretend to get my hands on some and say I convinced you to dose me at home.” He cocked his head and said mock-thoughtfully. “And this time it will stick because I believe in myself or some crap. I’ll let Wilson take care of the wording.” The healer thought it through.

“Could work…Cameron might be a problem though.” House grumbled, evidently she’d mentioned something to him as well.

“Let me worry about your girlfriend.” Shrugging off the comment, Chase got down to the details, recommending several ‘treatments’ over a few days followed by normal physical therapy.

“It would probably be best if you stay here for the duration-”

“But all my stuff’s at _my_ place.”

“And it will be just fine without you for a few days. I have more than one bed and bathroom.”

“You also have more stairs and terrible, terrible décor. What kind of gay do you call yourself?” Chase sat back and folded his arms, expression thoughtful.

“Interesting.”

“What? You’ve got girly hair and you wear brightly coloured crap. It’s a wonder I haven’t brought this up sooner.”

“Yes, it is.” Chase murmured before clearing his throat. “If someone comes looking for you, they’re less likely to look here.” That clinched it and House reluctantly agreed, throwing in some ridiculous requests for his primer. Amused, and secretly thinking that House coming to stay with him kind of _was_ like a rock star performing at his concert hall, Chase resolved to get half-arsed versions of the requests. See if he couldn’t make House smile a little.

The next case, House made a show of booking an exotic holiday and Chase prepared for the gruelling task ahead – stocking up on high calorie food and sleeping as much as he could. To try and prevent detection, House had suggested that the whole department take a break whilst he was gone. Chase mentioned to the others plans to try and catch some waves; Foreman talked about trying to get into a conference and Cameron planned to visit her family. Although suspicious of House’s seemingly good deed, the other two didn’t question it too much. Small mercies, Chase thought to himself.


	3. Oh Good, Is It My Turn For A Heart-Felt Speech?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Okay, so let’s do a small test, see if you can be awake.” He held his hands out before drawing them back. “Sorry, may I?” Amused, House waved a hand and Chase resumed, putting a hand either side of the wound on his leg. Even through the layer of pyjama bottoms, House still flinched minutely. The healer didn’t comment, instead waiting until he’d relaxed again before instructing softly. “Tell me if it’s too much.”

House was strangely nervous as he knocked on Chase’s door, overnight bag slung over his shoulder. He shouldn’t be, he reasoned, he’d been through this thing already once before. There would be no pain, no fear…just the memories of one of his employees taking up room in his consciousness. He’d avoided analysing what he’d experienced until that moment. As much as he loved figuring people out, actually witnessing, no, experiencing defining moments from someone else’s life was incredibly intimate.

Although raised Christian, House had never been strongly religious, had never known what that blind faith had felt like…until he’d been recovering in a hospital in Australia; having almost no choice but to turn to God to fix the disaster that was his life. Chase’s life. He shook his head. Obviously the feeling hadn’t lasted, but it had been very powerful at the time.

He wasn’t sure that he wanted to know that much more about Chase’s life, but figured that it was the price he’d have to pay for full mobility. He’d managed to treat the lackey the same as before, he could do it again. It helped that the man didn’t go to the school of thinking where people talked endlessly about one’s feelings. The young man seemed to have an understanding of what was going through House’s mind without too many clues, which made ignoring those pesky emotions all the easier.

True to form, the blond let him in and showed him to his room without any preamble, although House was amused to find a bottle of mineral water and pack of mints on the bedside table. Not quite the drinkable water fountain and ball pit of mint chocolates he’d specified but the indulgence was fun. He turned to his host, who was watching his reaction closely.

“I also ordered triplets in swimsuits.” Chase snorted.

“I’ll put some shorts on later.” He backed out of the room, calling. “Dinner in 30.” Alone in the strange room, House limped over and lay on the bed, trying not to think about his employee topless. He didn’t know if it was harder because he knew what the sight looked like now. Although he’d only had a quick glance in the poor lightning of the janitor’s closet, he’d seen enough to be able to picture it accurately.

At the time he’d been amused by Cameron’s latest chess move and the hapless Chase getting caught in the middle. He’d thought over _his_ next move, delighting in the effectiveness of the different options until he decided on the most frustrating reaction for his opponent – nothing until he mentioned it casually in passing. Cuddy was distracted but would haul them both into her office as soon as she’d recovered from the baby case and threaten them with dismissal if they brought any drama into her hospital. Foreman might mock them but otherwise wouldn’t care and House had resolved not to mention it more than once. That really irritated Cameron, especially after all those weeks of getting inside Chase’s head enough to convince him to have a quickie in a supply closet not 50 feet from his place of work.

House was curious as to whether she’d try something else or maybe someone else. She wasn’t the first of his fellows to try and get his attention through manipulating the others, but she was the first to use sex. Then again, none of the underlings had ever ‘fallen in love’ with him before. It was an interesting development.

He unpacked a little, examining the impersonal décor – definitely unchanged since the boy had bought the place and no doubted hired someone to fill it with things. Soon it was dinner and he discovered that the ‘not rich’ fellow had at some point learned how to cook some simple dishes. Nothing to House’s standard, but then again House hardly ever cooked for himself, let alone for other people. They ate in comfortable silence at the dining table until despite himself, House began.

“So about you and the slight one…”

“It’s nothing.” Chase claimed, though he avoided eye contact.

“I understand her angle, but yours…Did you figure that you were dismissal-proof because of this?”

“Oh, like you’d fire anyone for that.”

“If it affected the job-”

“Which it doesn’t.”

“How many patient’s homes have you fucked in?”

“None.”

“Yet.”

“What’s _your_ interest?” House shrugged.

“Just curious.” Snorting, Chase shot back.

“Oh yeah, I forgot that you like to know things.” House deflected even more.

“What do _you_ think my interest is?” Chase didn’t answer, instead clearing away the plates.

“Let me digest this, then we’ll start.”

“What? No dessert?” Sparing him a quick sardonic glance, Chase rejoined flatly.

“Only good boys get pudding.”

A little later, House was lying on the spare bed, Chase stacking sugary and high-carb snacks and drinks on the side table.

“Pass me some Trail Mix.” He ordered. As if expecting it, Chase grabbed one and tossed it over without looking. Chewing obnoxiously loudly, House asked causally.

“What happens if you don’t knock me out? Can I watch?” That made Chase pause and say carefully.

“It’ll probably be painful.”

“Probably.”

“House, you’re the first person I’ve ever told about this.”

“What? Not even…?” He left a deliberate pause and faked embarrassed concern, underlying all the people Chase didn’t have in his life. Giving him a dark look, Chase went back to cataloguing his stash.

“Apart from the nurses who just suspect something, only 2 other people _know_. And I’m not going to tell you who.”

“I’ll find out either way.”

“I know, but it’ll be more fun if you figure it out yourself.” House didn’t bother questioning why Chase didn’t seem worried about him harassing people he knew. It was obvious to both of them that for once, Chase held all the cards. At the first sign of trouble, he was prepared to up and leave. House needed him for now.

Well, House would never admit that he had needed the blondest duckling before – no reason to disclose that _ever_. So he didn’t press, instead planning how he would begin his investigation. As if he knew exactly what House was planning, Chase had a small smile on his lips as he drew a chair over to the bed.

“Okay, so let’s do a small test, see if you can be awake.” He held his hands out before drawing them back. “Sorry, may I?” Amused, House waved a hand and Chase resumed, putting a hand either side of the wound on his leg. Even through the layer of pyjama bottoms, House still flinched minutely. The healer didn’t comment, instead waiting until he’d relaxed again before instructing softly. “Tell me if it’s too much.”

Then he closed his eyes and House held his breath. The intense heat of before radiated from his leg and he watched fascinated as there were no outward signs at all. One would expect the hands to glow or smoke or something, it was so hot. Amazingly, he began to feel things happening in his leg. He closed his eyes and concentrated on the sensations.

At first it was difficult to tell what was happening, but then with sudden clarity he knew that his muscles were being strengthened. It was a strange sensation, but not strictly painful. The discomfort was more than off-set by the sheer scientific curiosity.

Suddenly, he gasped sharply and the hands shifted, as if to move.

“No! Don’t stop.” He ordered and was even more amazed to open his eyes and see Robert staring back at him. Those eyes he thought he knew were the same but…changed. Transformed somehow. There was something about them…the colour was deeper, or maybe sharper. The light shone off them differently, or…they were glowing, but without glowing.

After a long moment, Robert inclined his head slightly and his hands pressed down again. Gritting his jaw against the weird sensation, House closed his eyes again and let it happen. The muscles that he could relax, he did, one by one. A wave of calmness washed over him and after a moment, he realised.

“That was you, wasn’t it?” Robert just shushed him and although he felt like he should protest on principle, House felt too relaxed. Time went by, the discomfort building slowly but surely. Robert sent a few more pulses but then abruptly pulled away. As if being plucked out of a warm bath, House’s leg protested vehemently against the fierce aching. He grunted and was about to voice his displeasure when he saw the healer stagger up and grab an energy drink from the side, chugging it down. Looking closely, he noticed the fatigue that seemed to be dragging down every limb; the man was also breathing heavily, as if he’d been running for hours.

Robert shakily wiped his sweaty brow, trying to calm his breathing. House glanced at the alarm clock and was surprised to see that it was almost midnight. He mumbled something about the bathroom and shuffled off, leaving House to process what had happened. He waited for a while but then his impatience to continue compelled him up and along the corridor. His leg was stiff but serviceable and he completely forgot about it when he found Robert hunched over the toilet.

As House watched, he spat and leaned back, wiping his mouth and grimacing. His skin looked grey and his eyes were a little glassy, like he had a fever. Reaching past him, House filed up the toothbrush cup with water and handed it down to him. The sorry sight on the floor thanked him and sipped cautiously.

“This isn’t going to work.”

“What? You got a little queasy and you’re giving up?” The hatefully intuitive duckling shot him a look which said that he’d detected the concealed desperation in his response. Luckily, he just shook his head.

“I meant keeping you awake. I spent far too much energy numbing the pain and repressing the memories.”

“Then don’t numb the pain.”

“Look, I don’t want my life being plastered all over your brain either, but it seems like the most efficient option.” He pushed himself up and they made their way back to the bedroom.

“Why memories? Why not math equations or a stream of consciousness?” Robert tore open some pretzels and shrugged, hardly pausing to breath as he ate hungrily.

“It’s always worked that way.”

“You never tried anything different?”

“I had a hard enough time learning how to stop before I collapsed and how much of an unexpected recovery was suspicious or not.” He considered the wrapping as he said. “Haven’t done a chronic condition since…” House murmured almost compulsively filling the gap.

“Your mom.” Unseeing, Robert whispered.

“Addiction’s in the mind…can’t heal that.” Without the literal memory flashing before his eyes, House’s brain still managed to paint a tragic picture of a young boy desperately trying to heal his drunk carer, only to see all his efforts wasted.

“Some people don’t want help, or can’t accept it.” Trite, but maybe it would help in some small way, or at least distract from how similar this situation must be for him.

“Yeah.” Robert agreed easily, showing that he’d accepted the maxim even if he wasn’t yet at peace with his past. Instead Robert sighed heavily. House yawned widely.

“Pick this up again tomorrow? I’m beat.” As if coming out of a daze, Robert took a moment to respond.

“Uh, yeah sure. I’ll…” He nodded to the door and wandered over to it, leaving House mildly amused. He called.

“Sleep well.”

“Night.” When alone, House climbed into bed and stared at the ceiling, realising that he’d started calling the man by his first name in his head.

Oh shit.

…

Chase woke to the smell of bacon and eggs and other delicious things. Groaning as he stretched and arched like a cat, his brain took a while to realise that someone was cooking. House was cooking? Still bleary-eyed, he levered himself out of bed and down the stairs. Lo and behold, Dr G. House had found an apron from somewhere and was frying, toasting and boiling things in Chase’s kitchen. He stood watching, speechless in surprise.

Finally, House noticed him and looked like he was suppressing a smile.

“You know in some cultures it’s considered rude to leave your guest to fend for themselves.” As he was lecturing, Chase slipped onto a stool at the island and poured himself some orange juice, letting House go on uninterrupted. “Luckily I have basic survival skills and the ability to entertain myself. I think the paper’s outside. I’d go but-” Standing again, Chase waved a lazy hand and went to get it.

As he was retrieving it from the porch, one of his neighbours strolled past with his dog. He did a double take, staring at Chase for a long moment. Still on autopilot, Chase just nodded. Then next door opened and the harried nanny who was always struggling down the stairs with a pushchair came out, whining toddler in tow. She also did a double take when she saw him. His brain a little more online, he considered that maybe he really did look like Hell. The nanny bit her lip.

“Morning. Babysitting?” He returned her greeting, a little confused.

“Hey, kind of.”

“Sally, why’s that man got a blue moustache?” For a second, Chase could only blink; then, joining the dots, rubbed a hand under his nose. Nothing came off on his fingers but Sally’s mouth was twitching, so he said an awkward goodbye and hurried to check his reflection in the hallway mirror.

“House!” Paper being crushed between clenched fists, he stalked into the kitchen.

“Get it while it’s hot!” House tried to derail his righteous fury. No luck.

“What the Hell did you do to my face?”

“Relax, it’s just biro.”

“What?”

“Be glad I didn’t have any markers. Why don’t you by the way? They’re very useful.” Dumping the remains of the newspaper on the island, Chase stomped over to the downstairs bathroom, pretending not to hear House’s call. “I think the glasses make you look distinguished!” When he looked at himself again though, the childish absurdity of it all hit him and he laughed helplessly.

Once he’d got most of it off, he returned and ate his breakfast in his best ‘I’m-ignoring-you-because-I-am-upset’ attitude, chin in the air and pointed sniffing included. House just took it all in stride, chatting gaily about everything and nothing until Chase’s will broke under the deluge. He mock-sighed.

“You’re worse than the brat next door.”

“Course I am. I could run circles around that monster.” House declared, despite never having met the boy. “I am the Champion of the Prank.” Chase stared for a breath, and then huffed a laugh. While he was clearing up, House watching him from behind his coffee, a sudden pulse of curiosity made him ask.

“What else are you good at? Apart from medicine and pranks, I mean.”

“And cooking.” Chase tilted his head to the side, considering, and it was House’s turn to act offended.

“Always so underappreciated! See if I ever cook for you again!” Chase just chuckled and carried on wiping the counters. In the comfortable silence that followed, he suggested.

“Start in an hour?” House nodded and got up.

“Should give me enough time to check your email.”

“Hey!”

Over the course of the day, they experimented in mini-sessions, discovering that nerve and muscle regeneration were just tolerable without the distracting memories but anything involving bones was too hard for the both of them. After that particular experiment, they collapsed onto the couch and watched children’s cartoons until Chase staggered up and made them some sandwiches for dinner.

“I was thinking tomorrow we should measure the progress.”

“I got that covered.”

“We could go for a walk.” House frowned.

“When we’re both mean to be on holiday?” Chase snorted.

“You think we’d run into Cuddy in the park?” Sitting back, House commented.

“For the one paranoid the men in suits will take him away if he sneezes funny, you’re being awfully cavalier about this.”

“I don’t think they’re watching me for signs of hidden healing powers, I just think if it made the news, the wrong kind of people would notice.”

“Right, trying to figure out how you got this ability isn’t worth investing precious surfing time in.”

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out eventually.”

“ _That’s_ the reason you’re doing this. You want answers.” Chase was tempted to let House believe it, both for the fact that it would fit right into the cynic’s worldview and make him feel more comfortable with their arrangement, and the bigger, selfish reason that Chase wouldn’t have to be embarrassed by the real motive. But something about having House in his home, sharing meals with him, seeing him loose and easy, gave him the courage to say.

“It would be nice to know more, but I already told you why I’m doing this.”

“Oh yes, because you _like_ me.” Unsurprised by the scepticism but a little saddened by it, he insisted quietly.

“I _do_ like you.”

“You’re a masochist.” Swivelling so he was facing House, hands on his crossed leg, Chase said seriously.

“A lot of the time you make me feel like shit, more in the beginning, but I still don’t appreciate the mocking, the humiliation or the splashback from your pranks on other departments.

“Hmm, I’m following so far-” Ignoring the mocking, Chase went on, avoiding those sharp eyes.

“But I still prefer it to when other bosses would just pat me on the head and tell me ‘well done’ without pushing me to do better. I was just another intern or resident, one of the pack. Maybe here I’m the worst of the bunch, but in every case I learn so much and I’m driven.” He shrugged and pushed through the shame as he admitted. “I feel like I’m worth something here.” House opened his mouth but Chase rolled right over him, eyes still averted.

“And when my dad died…I was a mess. Grieving and angry at myself for it, feeling betrayed and abandoned all over again. The thing that got me through was this job. As long as you were acting normally, the world hadn’t ended, things we’re that bad. Then when you started bringing it up every 5 seconds,” House shifted but Chase didn’t let himself be distracted, “I realised that every joke, every cruel line made it a little easier to bear. Soon it was just one of the things House mocked me for.” He paused for breath and stared at his hands as he finished. “Your reasons don’t matter – you helped me cope with it and, you know, life in general.” There was a long pause.

Finding the strength to look up, Chase saw the tail end of a complicated look, quickly being smothered by flippancy.

“Oh good, is it my turn for a heartfelt speech?” Smiling without his eyes, Chase stood.

“Nope. Night cap?” A little taken aback but rolling with it, House just ordered a whiskey. Snorting, Chase replied. “Two hot cocoas, coming up.” He loped off to the kitchen, resisting the urge to pinch himself to check that he’d actually said all that to House and wasn’t in an elaborate dream.

“You’re more screwed up than I thought.” House’s voice came from behind him. “I always thought that you put up with the shit because you were desperate for approval and praise,” Chase turned to glance back and saw House cocking his head in calculation, “but you don’t actually expect it.”

“Not anymore.” He agreed, rubbing his jaw absently. House caught the movement and looked away quickly. Chase turned back and heated the milk, getting out the powdered cocoa in the following silence.

“You don’t know me.” Glancing up but not speaking for a long moment, Chase finally replied.

“No, but I know myself.”

“See you tomorrow.” House said quietly and limped away. Chase turned off the heat and stared at the pan for a long time.

…

Lying awake, House thought over the previous 24 hours; about how he’d barged into Robert’s room with an obnoxious request only to be confronted with his lackey dead to the world, lips slightly parted and face smooth and relaxed. He hadn’t even stirred when House had sat on the bed. This was dangerous. So he’d gone and found a pen to draw on the beautiful face. As it was almost dawn, he’d dressed and pottered about making breakfast. The prank had played out perfectly and all through the day he’d managed to act natural.

It had helped that they’d had to concentrate and that he'd only gained a few more of the other man's memories. And of those, he'd only learned that the rich boy used to joyride in his wild years and had hugged his aunt before going off to medical school. Then the earnest idiot had gone all gooey on him. The worse part was that House couldn’t even get justifiably angry at him because technically he’d just talked about his own feelings and hadn’t presumed to guess at House’s own. It was still more intimate than House was comfortable with and it had left him reeling. He ran through all the reasons that he didn’t, couldn’t, care about the other party in their arrangement: he was more than 10 years younger than him, the boy was his employee and Australian; he also had a boatload – make that yachtload – of issues, of both the mummy and daddy variety. He was straight, probably. House had never had the need to test Robert’s sexuality before. He’d never seen the man eyeing up another man, but then it wasn’t like they’d hung out socially. Contrary to popular wisdom, you couldn’t tell someone’s sexuality just from looking at them; it wasn’t in a dress sense or a mannerism.

Even so, he’d only observed the boy take female partners. So it was likely that they were his preference at least. He grimaced and acknowledged the flimsiness of the arguments against, especially considering the strength of the arguments for – namely the hard-on straining insistently in his pyjama pants.

 _Down boy_ , he ordered it ineffectually. It wasn’t like he hadn’t noticed how hot the Aussie was before. It was just that previously his attention had been fleeting and theoretical, overshadowed by the employer-employee relationship. But now, after the intimacies they’d shared – both intense and casual – he was more aware of the man than ever. He couldn’t do anything about it though. At least not until his leg was fully healed and it didn’t matter if the wombat fled.

They spent the rest of the week trading off between healing and resting. It soon became clear that Robert needed the rests just as much as House’s leg did; the toll of multiple healing sessions began to show after the second day of healing. His skin seemed paler, hair unattractively limp and he just looked tired in general. Teasing an unresponsive lump wasn’t nearly as much fun as one that glared in return, or sparred back. Plus, he didn’t want his healer to burn out too soon. With that in mind, House conceded to do some things to help Robert rest. This mainly meant taking on the lion’s share of cooking, some cleaning and packing the tired little tyke off to bed at a reasonable time every night.

It was pure self-interest and what did he care if the duckling got the wrong idea? The betrayal he might feel when House’s true nature revealed itself was nothing to the soon-to-not-be-a-cripple. As it was, his companion was either too exhausted to notice or just smart enough not to mention noticing.

By the time their ‘vacation’ was over, Robert was looking at least as healthy as when they’d started and House was feeling better than he had in years. He still needed the cane when he was tired and tired easily when walking without it, but the pain he felt now mostly came from muscle aches. He was down to a half-measure of Vicodin a day. Some more weeks of rehab and he’d be able to walk almost normally.

“I said that I wanted to run again.” He complained.

“Well,” Robert replied placidly, “you’ll just have to go on another vacation soon.” He grumbled in reply but otherwise didn’t agree or disagree with that suggestion. Instead he drove back to his apartment and slumped in front of the TV, thinking.


	4. Trauma

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You’ve learned all you can from me. I shouldn’t have to be the one to give your life meaning.” Through the shock, Chase heard himself saying:  
> “Fine.”
> 
> House still fires Chase and loses Foreman and Cameron. He thinks he has things together as he finalises his new team and finishes his own rehab regimen on his leg, but then Life throws a dumpster truck at him and everything falls apart.

Monday morning dawned and lying snuggly under the covers, it took Chase a while to figure out what was different. There were no cooking smells coming from the kitchen. Because there wasn’t anyone there. House had left. Groaning, he forced himself to get up and ready for work. He wondered all the way in how everyone would react and how much lying he’d have to do.

Predictably, Cameron was already in when he reached the conference room. He managed to deflect any questions from her by asking her about her time off. By the time Foreman had come in and added his own story, it was almost 9, so Chase got away with a vague reply to Cameron’s question. House, as expected, made a dramatic entrance.

Their first warning was the Rocky theme tune which started playing down the corridor. Foreman went over to look out of the glass walls.

“What’s he up to now?” Cameron asked knowingly. Foreman shook his head and glanced back at them.

“Hell if I know.” He turned away and went back to his coffee. The music was louder now and finally House came into view. He was dressed as the down-and-out boxer, albeit with a cane and a small CD player. Breaking into a fast limp as he saw them looking, he kicked open the door, singing.

“Eeeeeeeeye of the tiger!” With a flourish, he tossed his cane at Chase and shoved the CD player at Cameron, both fumbling to catch their assigned objects. Then House shadow-boxed around for a bit, causing all of his fellows’ jaws to drop. Chase realising that he must have taken something to numb the pain as he hadn’t healed enough for that level of activity. Of course, there were questions – Chase threw in some as well to avoid suspicion.

House avoided all of them and spouted increasingly bizarre answers until they gave up – no doubt Cameron had resolved to pump Wilson for the real story. They had a case so as soon as they had their tests to run, the three were out of the door and speculating down the hall. Each repeating their theories from the time before but with more conviction.

“Aren’t you the tiniest bit curious as to how his leg has miraculously healed?” Cameron asked Chase incredulously. He sighed.

“Look, all I know that he’s found something that’s worked, if it’s dangerous or illegal I’d rather not have to testify.” Foreman snorted and Cameron just gave them both disappointed looks. For the duration of the case, House alternated between showing off and openly napping or getting massages of his leg. At the end, Cameron came into the lab and triumphantly told the other two that House had paid a hooker to administer some Ketamine and ‘keep an eye’ on him as he’d been under. She and Foreman seemed to accept this and Chase tried not to let his relief show on his face.

Then in their next case Foreman pushed for fatal full-body radiation and everyone’s priorities changed. From there it felt to Chase like his life, his world was slowly unravelling, culminating in the moment House looked up and fired him.

“You’ve learned all you can from me. I shouldn’t have to be the one to give your life meaning.” Through the shock, Chase heard himself saying:

“Fine.” And he turned away. As he reached the door, House called nonchalantly.

“Dr Thomas has an opening.” Slowly, Chase turned back around. In answer to his questioning look, House shrugged. “I’m firing my fellow, not my doctor.” Chase didn’t answer, just walking away.

…

The first thing House did every morning since he’d had the intensive healing ‘vacation’ was yoga. He kept a matt and CD player in his room so he literally rolled out of bed and set it up. There were a lot of moves which he’d had to modify or skip due to continuing muscle weakness in his leg – but he had noticed improvement in the positions he could do.

The first morning of his fellowship auditions, he was feeling jittery and so did a longer routine than normal. Everything was in place and it was going to cause so much havoc. The only thing he was on the fence about was whether or not to mess with Robert’s new job. Despite his unimpressed expression when House had suggested it, Robert had ended up taking it. He had also taken House’s sloppy seconds in the form on Dr A. Cameron.

The hospital had been buzzing after they’d confirmed their relationship. A betting pool had been started on how long it would be before he’d cheat on her or break her heart some other way. House wasn’t sure what the young buck’s reasoning was – if he had any beyond frequent sex. He’d boiled it down to two main theories: 1. he actually liked her or 2. he was somehow using her to get back at House. Not much of a revenge plan if it was the latter. But then, for all his wiles and wit, Robert didn’t have a vindictive bone in his body. Yes, he might enjoy seeing an enemy suffer, but not seriously, and he’d never induce serious suffering himself.

So he must like her or at least the idea of her. House wondered if he knew of dear Allison’s need to fix broken things, if he knew that on some level she must see him as damaged or she wouldn’t be interested. Further, she likely had the ulterior motive of continuing to vie for House’s attention through sexy times with Chase. In any case, he only gave it a few months at most.

Finished with his exercises, House got ready for the day. For now, he was satisfied with his leg’s progress and his current pain level. Whilst it had increased during the fellow-less period, the excitement of the upcoming trails had lowered it again. He was secure in the knowledge, however, that Robert would be there to help him in the next stage of healing. Although he was no longer a lackey, he could still be manipulated.

Everyone could.

…

Chase couldn’t resist watching from the observation window. He’d heard all about House’s antics and despite himself – and the incredibly short interim period in which he had been subject to such weirdness – felt some nostalgia. House was still part of his life – probably always would be as long as he stayed at PPTH – but then that was the whole point of staying. Allison – as he supposed he should start calling her – had made up some feeble excuse for sticking around which didn’t include being close to House but he didn’t believe it for a second.

He wondered if she believed herself. Maybe. She kept on saying that she was over House when that clearly wasn’t true. Not that Chase cared. When she’d approached him at his house that first night, he’d been wary. She’d turned down his offer of a drink but was then throwing herself at him a few hours later?

She explained it as wanting to cut ties with House before moving on with him.

“ _You_ want a relationship with _me_?” They’d been standing a hair’s breadth away from each other, her slow and sultry walk up the steps having taken her right up close to him. He’d been very interested in her progress until she’d mentioned the reason for the delay. At his question, she fingered the front of his jacket playfully.

“Is that so ridiculous?”

“Well, you did call me a vindictive jerk a few days ago.”

“I never called you a jerk, those were your words.” Huffing a laugh, he looked up before leaning back a little to catch her eyes.

“So you either _don’t_ think I’m a bad person or think I am but able to change or…you want to date a jerk?” She raised her eyebrows as he ventured. “What? Is it on your bucket list?” Mock-sighing, she pulled him down and whispered.

“I don’t think you’re a jerk.” Letting her kiss him, Chase closed his eyes, relaxed into it and thought it over. He still wasn’t entirely sure of her motive for pursuing him, all he knew was that he wasn’t convinced she liked him as a person. Putting that aside, he considered his own interest in a relationship with her. On top of her looks and tight body, she had a vicious streak which he enjoyed; her snide little asides about people they knew made him laugh. Although he often didn’t agree with her stance on the things they ended up arguing about, he did admire her conviction. Even House had a difficult time changing her opinions and that required a strong mind and will. Being with her before and after sex could be enjoyable by itself and the sex _was_ very good. Chase had never felt as in tune with anyone before. It was surprising, but true.

So did he think they’d get married and have kids someday? No. But where was the harm in spending some time together? Pulling back ever so slightly, he murmured.

“I’m going to stay in Princeton.” Staring deep into his eyes she replied softly.

“Me too.”

“Guess we could keep seeing each other then.”

“Exactly what I was thinking.” A few days later, they’d both signed contracts for new positions at the hospital and after a week or two, they started their ‘new lives’. Allison dyed her hair for some reason but otherwise not much changed.

Which brought Chase to the observation platform. He’d got his hands on a copy of House’s patient’s file and had put his mind to the task. After hearing House question the gathered candidates – a pulse of longing had forced the final piece of the puzzle into place and he’d pushed the intercom. House’s expression had been impossible to read with the distance and surgical mask – but when someone had asked if he would hire Chase instead, the interloper was surprised by House’s glance at him. He shook his head and saw himself out.

Overall he was enjoying his new job. Dr Thomas hated House like almost everyone he’d ever met, so he had been initially wary of someone who’d worked for the man for years. He had resented Cuddy pretty much ordering him to hire Chase but after a few weeks of ass-kissing, Chase had worked his way into the ‘like’ column and he started getting assigned more interesting and challenging surgeries.

He’d worked in some capacity with most of the surgical team before and though they were mostly workaholics focused on advancing their skills or family people looking to spend as much time with their kids as possible, they weren’t unfriendly towards him. There was a monthly night out which he was invited to and he’d managed to entertain them with some insider stories of House’s craziness.

About House, the man himself hadn’t contacted Chase at all – no doubt too busy with his circus. Chase knew that one day his services would be called on again – so he was content to wait. He no longer feared that his cover would be blown and that he’d have to run.

House shouted at him after he was talked into helping the manipulative Amber and they plotted to make a killing from the betting pool on his candidates, otherwise they didn’t really talk.

That was until Amber reappeared as Wilson’s new girlfriend – and who the hell had seen that coming?

“I think it’s crazy enough to work.” Allison had offered over take-out one night. Chase considered her position a moment before shrugging. Wilson’s love life didn’t affect him after all. Until it did.

…

House was glad that he’d fired Robert. It was less embarrassing asking an ex-employee to go bowling. Although he felt surlier about having to ask him once he’d seen the man get strike after strike. For some reason he’d imagined that the Australian had never been introduced to the game and would suck. He would pout, try and study House’s technique and explain that as a kid he’d juggled wallabies or something and could they do that instead?

Anyway, despite his surprisingly inferior skill level, House did end up having a fruitful outing as he’d received some useful advice regarding the Wilson/CB situation. Maybe he’d take the man out again. And he did. Over the next few weeks, they had a couple of trips to local bars, one house-visit to watch some sport. If Robert had any opinion about the invitations he kept it to himself.

So House finally had his life together: he had a new team, his friendship with Wilson was surviving this new territory of a potentially successful romantic relationship on Wilson’s part, Cuddy still worshiped the ground he walked on and his leg was the best it had been since the infarction. He could survive without the cane on a good day and he was having more of them than ever.

He had been considering asking Robert for another session when he managed to end up in a strip club after a major accident. Ignoring everyone’s concern and attempts to order him to rest, he battled on – only pausing to bat Robert’s worried hands away. He told him urgently.

“Save your strength for the patient. They’re important and they’re dying.” Though his face was still creased with anxiety, Robert nodded and backed down. House didn’t consciously notice it, but Robert was with him throughout most of the ordeal. First helping him recover his memory with hypnosis, then remaining in the background through the other schemes even after House’s heart had stopped and the horrible revelation that it was Wilson’s heart they were trying to save.

House had never seen Wilson that distraught before; he knew with a cold certainty that if he failed, he’d lose Wilson forever. This suspicion was heavily supported by Wilson changing his tune about electrifying House’s brain. Even though he was sure that he’d be fine, House still pulled Robert aside beforehand.

“Swear to me that whatever it is, you’ll fix her.” Robert opened his mouth, no doubt to point out the impossibility of that promise, but House interrupted. “No, just promise me you’ll save her.”

“Her heart and kidneys are shot.”

“You just need to heal the heart and a kidney to give her a chance.” Having already learned the futility of arguing with House when he was that desperate, Robert didn’t try. Instead he studied the other man for a long moment.

“Alright, I’ll do it for a kiss.” House blinked before quipping.

“Save her life and I think she’d give you a whole lot more than that. Heck, she and Wilson would probably-”

“No. I want a kiss from you.” Sure he was hallucinating again, House pinched Robert on the arm. He flinched bit moved closer. “I’m real.”

“Why?”

“Why not?”

“You could ask me for anything. Why a kiss?” They were very close now, standing in each other’s space, breathing each other’s air. The temperature was low in the prep room and both of them were dressed in scrubs but House felt hot suddenly.

“You’re asking a lot from me.” Robert answered simply. Noticing that his companion’s breathing had sped up and his blue eyes were dilating, House found the moment stretching, feeling like he was being suspended in mid-air. Without a conscious decision, he leant forward and closed the gap, pressing his lips against Robert’s.

There weren’t fireworks or violins, but a familiar warmth spread through him. He grabbed onto Robert’s arms and felt answering hands on him. He lost track of time. Eventually, Robert pulled back slightly, their lips making a soft smacking sound as they parted.

“Thank you.” Robert whispered and then the swing doors opening made them jump apart. House turned and saw Wilson. A Wilson who had obviously seen them but had shuffled any reaction to the back of his mind.

“Ready?” The two nodded and they began the procedure. Horror flooded House’s mind as he watched Amber take the flu pills but as the darkness took him, he heard Robert’s voice promising that everything would be alright.

...

 

House beginning to seize was perhaps the scariest thing he’d ever seen. Chase lunged forward and put a hand on the man’s shoulder, locating the misfiring neurons in House’s head and calming them. House’s movements stilled rapidly and Chase breathed a sigh of relief. He allowed himself another second of contact before removing his hand and turning to Wilson.

“We need to get everyone out of Amber’s room.” Relaxing now that the immediate medical crisis was over, Wilson’s expression returned to the helpless, tragic look. Walking around the chair, Chase took hold of his shoulders. “Listen to me. I can save her, but you need to do exactly as I say.”

“But the Amantadine…”

“Don’t tell anyone about that. If they ask, House seized before he figured it out and we still don’t know what’s wrong. Trust me.” Seeing Wilson still trapped in grief, he took a gamble. “I was the one who healed House’s leg. It wasn’t Ketamine or rehab.” Wilson looked up at him then, frowning. “It was me. Let me save her.” It took a long moment, but then Wilson nodded, swallowing thickly.

“Okay.”

“Alright. Get everyone out of her room and tell them to stay out, that you want time alone with her and you’ll monitor her vitals.” Wilson kept on nodding automatically but he did seem to be listening. Chase continued his instructions. “Then get as many banana bags and IVs of stimulants as you can.” When Wilson hesitated, Chase insisted. “Quickly, go!” Wilson successfully dispatched, Chase called in help to get House taken out of the chair and put in a bed.

Cuddy had evidently heard and rushed in at one point. Chase reassured her that her prize doctor would be fine before heading to Amber’s room. He briefly contemplated finding Allison but pushed her from his mind.

He found Wilson had obeyed his orders and brought another IV stand over to the bed, hooking himself up to the first bag. Wilson just stared at him questioningly. Calmer than he felt, Chase explained.

“Put her on bypass. I’m going to filter out the poison and then heal as many of her organs as I can before I pass out.”

“You’re going to use…yourself?”

“It should take a few hours, I’ll let you know when she’s clear of the Amantadine. You should start seeing improvements to her heart and lungs after that.” Then he sent up a silent prayer that this crazy plan would work and put his hands down on her.

As soon as he touched her, his instincts screamed at him to ease her into a painless death. He could feel the decay throughout her body and knew that Death was her assigned path. _No_. House’s voice echoed in his head and that lean face, taught with guilt and desperation flashed across his inner eye. Swallowing, Chase concentrated on doing what he could.

There wasn’t actually that much of the drug in her system, so he made short work of sheparding it to the bladder – which he protected from damage. Surfacing just enough to tell Wilson the poison was being passed through the urine, he quickly checked his IV level and murmured.

“Refill please.” He just caught Wilson’s jump to obey before he dived back down. The amount of damage was overwhelming, seemingly every organ had at least some level of cell death; the heart and lungs were almost completely dead and the kidneys were basically clumps of dead cells. Gritting his teeth, he concentrated on the heart, repairing the walls, chambers and major arteries, wincing at how stiff and cold they felt when it wasn’t beating.

Satisfied that it would work on its own for at least a few weeks without surgical intervention, he moved onto the left lung. It was the most intact of the two and he repaired it enough that it would properly oxygenate her alone. Hours must have passed by the time he was done and his own body was blaring alarm bells at him. His hands slipped a little from their resting place on her torso and he felt sweat drenching him, his breathing heavy. Managing to lift his eyes to the IV bag, he saw that it was full. Wilson’s voice floated into his consciousness.

“You’ve got enough left for another hour.” Shit. No way could he finish in that amount of time. Even if Amber could survive and heal herself, the damage done to her lesser organs would mean she’d never regain the strength to survive an organ transplant. Even if he healed enough of the liver and she went on dialysis, it would be unlikely that she’d be able to tolerate the complications from it. Shit, shit, shit. Maybe House and Wilson would be crazy enough to risk a partial liver transplant anyway.

“Kidney or liver?” He whispered weakly. Wilson made an enquiring noise and Chase’s head dropped forward. He grunted the question again and Wilson replied urgently.

“Liver.” Gathering his remaining strength, he turned his attention to the liver. It was bad but there were still some living cells, he grabbed them and multiplied them rapidly, breaking down some of the dead ones harmlessly to make room as he went.

His head felt light but he forced himself to ignore it. His heart was racing, like it was pumping air instead of blood but he went on. Then he started wheezing, not able to take in enough air and panic began to build underneath his concentration. He was just at the point where another few centimetres of liver saved would be enough to function until it could heal itself when he had a sudden flash of clarity.

If he didn’t stop that instant, he would die. It had always been easier to focus on the energy toll his healing had – count it in calories and hours of sleep. But deep inside him he’d always known that there was another, more ethereal cost.

Whenever he healed someone, he poured part of himself, part of his very essence, into them. Whilst he never felt it happening, to the patient, it manifested as his memories. As his body recovered, so too did his spirit and that was a whole philosophical revelation he’d never been prepared to delve into. This was the most he’d ever healed anyone, the most he’d ever given and the hardest he’d had to fight to change someone’s given path. In that split second, he knew that to save Amber would be to kill himself.

To right House’s wrong, to salvage the man’s only friendship and preserve his sanity would cost Chase the ultimate price.

As a child, he’d dreamed of being recognised world-wide as a saint, a healer for God and symbol of his Eternal Love. Life had other ideas and whilst at times he may have mourned the loss of that simple but big dream, in that moment, about to bind three lives together forever in one miraculous event, he couldn’t help but smile.

His last thought was of House's lips on his.


	5. Debts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Greg. Chase is braindead.” House blinked, unmoving as Wilson continued, his voice thick. “His heart stopped, right when he was healing her liver. He just, collapsed. And… I called a code and we got a pulse back but he went too long without oxygen. Foreman’s calling his medical proxy-”  
> “No.” House began pulling at his wires and muttering under his breath. “He just needs time.”
> 
> House has more than a few choice words after finding out what Chase did whilst he was unconscious.

Through the grogginess and aching head, House felt a terrible dread as he woke. He heard Cuddy’s voice, urgent but hopeful; he managed to understand her update on his condition.

“Wilson.” He whispered, uncaring as to how lucky he’d been to avoid any serious brain damage. With a sigh, Cuddy went to get his friend. Seemingly two seconds later, Wilson entered the room, looking exhausted and haunted. Giving up trying to figure out exactly what had happened just from his friend’s expression, his brain did feel very tender, he demanded hoarsely. “Well?” Collapsing into the chair by the bed, Wilson reported in a strange, detached tone.

“I have no idea how, but Chase did it. He got rid of the poison and healed enough of her organs that she’s got a good chance of surviving dialysis. Might need more some bypass surgeries in the near future but…it’s…” He shook his head, looking up at the ceiling as if questioning his whole world view. House grunted.

“How long has it been? Robert awake yet? Wanna see him when he comes out of hibernation.” Wilson’s head dropped at that and he studied his hands, swallowing convulsively. The dread returned with full force, crashing against the inside of House’s ribcage. “What?” Taking in a shaky breath, Wilson looked up and met House’s eyes. He had on his bad news face.

“Greg. Chase is braindead.” House blinked, unmoving as Wilson continued, his voice thick. “His heart stopped, right when he was healing her liver. He just, collapsed. And… he was still breathing when I unhooked him from the IV and put him in the recovery position.” Eyes welling with tears, he forced himself on. “I went to check on Amber’s vitals and when I turned back.” He gulped. “I called a code and we got a pulse back but he went too long without oxygen. He’s in the ICU on a ventilator, there’s next to no brain activity. Foreman’s calling his medical proxy-”

“No.” House began pulling at his wires and muttering under his breath. “He just needs time.”

“House-”

“Help me up! I need to see him.”

“House, stop!”

“No! You’re wrong! You don’t know how it works!” By this time, he was fighting against Wilson’s placating hands and sighing, the exhausted friend helped the mad one to his feet – knowing that there was nothing to say to stop him.

It wasn’t a long walk, but House was breathless by the end of it. Ignoring the machines, he hobbled over to the nearby chair and looked at the readouts. They were grim – if it were anyone else he would advise they pull the plug but instead he turned to Wilson and said.

“They’re better than they were before.” Grimacing, Wilson replied helplessly.

“Maybe a little.” He sighed heavily. “House-”

“You can go. Be with Amber. I’ve got this.” As if to prove his point, he put a hand over one of the pale, limp ones on the bed. It was cold; the kind of cold that made it hard to recall the intense heat it had once sent pulsing through his own body. Eyes burning, he blinked resolutely and focused on those closed lids, willing them to open. He didn’t hear Wilson leave.

Some amount of time later, someone started screaming at him. Startling, he turned and saw Cameron standing behind him, eyes red and puffy, face pale and hair sticking out at all angles.

“What the Hell did you do to him?” She demanded, voice surprisingly loud for such a small person. “You killed him!” She choked on her rage and grief, leaving a gap for House to say matter-of-factly.

“He’s not dead.” Turning back, he murmured to himself. “He’ll be fine.” There was an almost squawk and Foreman started talking gently. The door closed and there were footsteps. House tried to ignore them but couldn’t help but follow Foreman’s progress to the other side of Chase’s bed.

“I just got off the phone with Chase’s aunt.” House looked up, about to snarl at him too but the sheer intensity of Foreman’s gaze killed the words in his throat. “She asked if this was caused by the experimental trial her nephew was participating in.” It was the time to come up with a brilliant explanation, but House’s mind went blank. He had enough brain power to register Foreman’s next words. “Kind of curious, how Amber had been suffering multiple organ failure before she miraculously recovered and Chase’s heart stopped beating for no reason.” His tone had started flat but began sharpening as he continued. “If I think about it, there’s been another injury which has mysteriously healed recently. Maybe there was a mysterious illness which had come on suddenly that no one noticed…”

In that moment, House knew that Foreman would not be fooled by any excuse he could come up with. Luckily, he had already been branded as House-lite so would hopefully be easily persuaded to keep the secret. Damn. Wilson would have to be told and would probably insist on telling Amber. That would make five people who knew Robert’s secret (7 if you counted the ones who had known before that fateful day Robert had decided to help him).

Exhausted and feeling every ache and bruise and pounding in his head, House silently asked for Robert for forgiveness.

“This time tomorrow, his vitals will have improved and one day, soon, he will make a full recovery.” Foreman crossed his arms and House put a hand up. “Look, there’s no point arguing, just give him time. When he’s better we can all sit down and explain everything.” Jaw twitching, Foreman regarded him for another minute before pointing a finger.

“24 hours.” Trying not to show his relief, House nodded and then looked back down at the patient. He blocked everything else out and instead replayed all his memories of the man who’d saved him. Over and over and over.

…

20 hours later and Robert had regained enough brain activity that they tried turning off the respirator. He started breathing again on his own and House laughed giddily before passing out. He woke in a hospital bed and grimaced at the dryness of his mouth and aching of every muscle. Ignoring Cuddy’s protests, he climbed back out of bed and returned to Robert’s side. Allison was there, looking a little better than before but no less murderous when she saw House.

“Get out.” She spat.

“No.” He replied petulantly, dragging another chair over to the other side of the bed. Looking outraged but seeming to realise that short of physically dragging him out there wasn’t anything she could do, she sniffed and deliberately turned back to Robert. They both sat there in stubborn silence for a while. She bristled when he took Robert’s other hand but didn’t say anything.

Suddenly, a loud beep startled them and they both turned to the brainwave monitor. They watched and Cameron gasped, whispering joyfully.

“He’s dreaming.” House looked down at the still, emotionless face and wondered what Robert was seeing. He tamped down on his impatience for the man to wake, settling for squeezing the hand which had regained some warmth since the last time he’d held it. After a while, Cameron spoke again. “You do care about him.” Deigning to look at her, House saw her knowing expression and irritation flared. There she was going again, thinking she knew him. Just because she was right this time didn’t give her any right to try and ‘fix’ him. Pettily he replied.

“More than you do.” Although intended to hurt, she didn’t even flinch. Instead she leaned forward and kissed Robert on the forehead, smoothing back the hairs which had fallen there. Standing, she held House’s gaze for a long moment, House understanding her request. He’d had this whole speech planned for when her weak-ass revenge plan had been revealed. Something about what an idiot she was to believe that she could make him jealous through Robert and how neither of the men had ever wanted her. But in the moment, it just wasn’t important so he said nothing, only nodding his agreement.

She left and House shifted closer to the bed, putting Robert’s hand between both of his and closing his eyes.

Once, he had asked Robert how he healed people. The sheepish miracle worker had shrugged. _I just spread my awareness into their body and tell their cells to heal or regenerate or whatever needs to be fixed._ Like that was a helpful description. Now, House tried to do the same anyway. He imagined dormant brain cells not firing – because they couldn’t be dead if he was going to wake up, could they? – and tried to imagine them coming back to life.

Robert’s voice whispered in his head. _Careful, your Humanity is showing._ Eyes snapping open, House stared down at him. There was no change, no sign of an improvement. He glanced at the brainwave monitor but he’d stopped dreaming and was just showing minimal waves again.

“You tease.” He reprimanded lowly. It had got a reaction though, so he tried again. This time he didn’t hear Robert’s voice, but it felt like he was helping, so he kept on.

…

Thus House began his vigil. He only moved when absolutely necessary, insisting on eating meals and having his dressings changed in his chair. Wilson and Cuddy lecturing even as they assisted. They tried to talk to him about his injuries, his new relationship, Cameron’s resignation. He ignored them all, only following instructions to help them replace his dressings so he could go back to holding Robert’s hand. The man wasn’t his employee anymore and it was the 21st century; he was beyond caring what anyone thought.

As predicted, Robert improved a little each day, taking four days to get up to a 13 on the GCS. On the fifth day, House had grown very sick of sleeping in the uncomfortable chair and snacking on the horrible patient food. He tried pinching some nerve clusters but only got grunts or twitches in response.

Irritably, he went back to planning the long diatribe to which he was going to subject the lazy – not to mention irresponsible – bastard. How the Hell had he pushed himself far enough for his heart to stop? Oh yeah, they were definitely going to have words.

Day 6 and he was due to wake up any time. House gruffly declined Amber’s thanks. She’d been on the way for some scan or something and had asked them to wheel her to the door. She’d looked terrible – but alive, so Wilson was still bursting into grateful tears every 5 minutes. House had told her to come back when Robert was awake and thank him herself – he wasn’t passing on any messages. Amber had raised her eyebrow at his death grip on the limp hand but she wisely refrained from commenting.

A while later, Robert groaned. Body fizzing with indignation and anticipation, House waited until Robert settled again before pinching him, hard, on the inside of the thigh. A hoarse yelp did a little to right the scales, but there was so much more needed. Robert’s eyes snapped open and he quickly focused on House’s face. He looked confused but not in the mood for clarifying anything, House leaned in and said loudly.

“I want my kiss back.” Robert blinked and grunted questioningly. Squeezing the hand he still held, House repeated brusquely. “I want, my kiss back, with interest.”  Coughing a little, Robert looked up and his eyes focused. House just held his gaze and waited for cognition. Finally, the patient managed.

“How many?”

“Lots. Almost too many to count, because no amount could ever make up for the fact that you’re a colossal _idiot_.” Robert didn’t respond to that, just darting his eyes over House’s face. Uncomfortable with the scrutiny, House tried to remember the masterpiece of a lecture he’d been perfecting for six days. “I leave you alone for five minutes and you put yourself in a coma? Of all the moronic things you’ve done over the years, that definitely-”

“House.” Robert tried to interrupt.

“No! I have been waiting for too long to-”

“Alright.” Blinking, House frowned.

“What?” Face creased like he was in pain but still managing to keep his expression gentle, Robert promised.

“I’ll stay with you till we’re even.” Wind thoroughly taken out of his sails, House just closed his mouth.

“It’ll be a really long time.” He managed after a moment. “Like, a really, really long time.” Robert’s lips twitched and he murmured.

“Okay.”

“I’m a jealous man – you’ll have to ditch the stick.”

“Figured.” Taking a deep breath, House went on.

"And you can't heal anyone again." At this Robert blinked before his expression turned troubled.

"'Cept you."

"No. Not me." He'd thought long and hard about it and hadn't actually reached a decision until Robert had easily agreed to a 'repay his debt'. How someone so abused could offer their love and attention so readily was the real mystery. That and why he'd chosen House of all people to devote such a big heart to. House knew then that the poor boy obviously couldn't see his own value beyond his miraculous powers. Well, he'd always been good at telling people when they were being stupid, and thanks to their new arrangement, it seemed up to him to make sure the martyr wanna-be stayed alive to fulfil it.

Robert just stared at him. Shifting under the laser-like gaze, House muttered petulantly. "What? Don't want to be indebted to a cripple?" Limp fingers squeezed his hand back and the patient closed his eyes, murmuring.

“M'tired.” Aware that Robert had run out of energy for now, House sat back.

“Get your beauty sleep. We are so far from done.” Robert smiled a half-smile and then went back to sleep. Safe in the knowledge that he’d have many more hours of waiting, House made himself comfortable and watched him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So originally this story ended here but then Foreman wouldn’t back down without an explanation so I started thinking about the fallout. Once I’m done with my next two Chicago Fire fics I’ll probably return to this and write an epilogue or small second fic.  
> Thanks to Palaserece for letting me link to her amazing fic, I highly recommend you go check it out!  
> Hope you’ve enjoyed, let me know any feedback and thanks for reading!  
> :D


	6. Epilogue

It was dark and then it wasn’t. She blinked. Her ass was half-frozen to the seat and the rosary beads in her hands felt like ice. The others told her that it would eventually get warmer and this cold was nothing compared to the blizzard of ’83.

“In the old days, they didn’t even have radiators, can you imagine?” One of the priests had commented to her one particularly cold morning. Considering she was freezing despite the double layer of thermal wear under her robes and standing next to the feeble radiators, she’d only smiled and nodded. It helped that she was known to be quiet and shy; it made escaping awkward or boring conversations easier.

So she was praying for guidance in the stone chapel, wryly thinking that the act of struggling through the wind to sit in an ice box should be proof enough of her devotion – or perhaps desperation. She’d been at the Seminary for almost three months and all that had changed had been the weather getting progressively colder.

She hadn’t been cleansed, she didn’t feel closer to God. So she prayed, prayed for a sign, prayed for peace, prayed…

Then she was surfing, the sun was intense but there were strong winds and the fresh sea air and cool waves made it a nice day. There were a lot of other surfers and tourists frolicking on floats and jet skis. The crowds made it more difficult to surf safely, but she was mostly showing off for the babes on the beach she’d flirted with earlier.

She decided to catch a few more waves and then go over, see if she couldn’t get lucky. In between waves, she thought how nice it would be to stay forever, swim and play like the dolphins. No wonder the buggers always looked so happy.

House was talking to her but she could barely hear him over the roaring in her ears. House had known about her dad dying and _he’d said nothing_. Although she didn’t really believe he’d done it out of cruelty, it still hurt. If only, if only kept spinning round and round her head. The patient would still be alive. She wouldn’t have killed that mother of two little girls.

She closed her eyes.

“Chase.” House said softly. But no…this part was later. She was exhausted, about to fall asleep standing up. House’s hand was on her shoulder. “Robert.” He whispered.

Amber woke.

…

It took a few days after Robert woke up from his coma for everyone to get together. Chase, House, Wilson, Foreman and Cuddy all gathered in Amber’s room. House had tried to argue that Cuddy didn’t need to be there but once Chase had got over the realisation that a dozen people would know his secret, he insisted it would be so much easier to cover up with her help. She could also give them a head’s up if any creepy government types came asking for him.

House hadn’t been in the mood to laugh at that concern and even though he’d spread the rumour that Chase’s sudden heart attack had been caused by an infection – allowed to flourish as Chase had ignored the symptoms – he seemed to have realised how close to blown his cover had been. According to Foreman, most people seemed to accept this explanation – especially the embellishment that it was herpes-related and that’s why Cameron had left. Chase had grumbled about that but House had jealously reminded him that his player-days were over, so why would he care what STIs everyone thought he had?

“I don’t want them to think I’m a cheating bastard.” Chase had whined.

“They already thought that.” House had re-joined unsympathetically. Cameron had visited Chase briefly after he’d woken up, House didn’t know what had been said but neither looked shocked or upset, so it had probably been a tepid goodbye. House didn’t care, Robert was his now and he was going to take care of him – starting with setting everyone straight on the boundaries.

He and Robert hadn’t had a proper conversation – Robert had still been in and out for a few days. When Robert had been strong enough to concentrate for a long stretch, the hovering crows had demanded an explanation.

“If I’m helping to spread a fake story, the least you could do is tell me the real one.” Foreman had reasoned. House had had lots of choice words about that but Wilson’s support of the ‘meeting’ had overwhelmed reason so he’d gone along too – grumpily.

When Robert and Amber saw each other, they’d hesitated, eyes locking. House recognised the tangle of emotions on Amber’s face as shame and gratitude – things he’d felt himself after being healed. Robert looked embarrassed and wary. He’d told House once that he never knew which memories the people he healed received. There were large parts of his life that he tried to put behind him – having a near stranger immersed in them was extremely unsettling for him.

This case was especially bad because he’d spent such a long time healing Amber – so she would have seen a big chunk of his life. When they broke their gaze, Amber looked at House and her expression deepened – he instantly knew that she was looking at him through Robert’s eyes. Whilst in her coma, she’d felt how Robert had felt. She didn’t say anything though, the clever thing saving it for later.

When everyone was settled, House and Robert exchanged a look – they’d already decided that it would be better coming from Robert. Sighing, he said.

“Ever since I can remember, I could heal people or animals, with my hands.” There was a long silence. Then Foreman chuckled, exchanging glances with the others. On seeing Wilson and Amber’s solemn faces, however, he held out his hands.

“Wait, you all believe this?” Cuddy crossed her arms.

“If this is some kind of joke-”

“It’s not.” Wilson interrupted. “I saw it with my own eyes.”

“It’s true.” Amber weighed in sincerely. Still incredulous, the non-believers turned to House and he shrugged. Glancing at Robert, he asked.

“Up for a demo?” Wearily, Robert nodded. Cuddy looked anxious.

“Hold on, what does this ‘demo’ involve?”

“Don’t worry, we just need some of Foreman’s blood.”

“What?”

“House.” Robert admonished gently. He looked at Foreman. “Just give yourself a small cut and I’ll heal it.” House cut in.

“Small meaning a papercut, he’s running a little low on mojo right now.” After checking everyone else’s reactions, Foreman sighed.

“What the Hell?” He unpacked a scalpel and made a small cut on the back of his hand. Robert beckoned him and Cuddy over, sending House a reassuring look, as if sensing House’s worry. Taking Foreman’s hand between his but leaving the cut uncovered, he closed his eyes. Foreman tensed, moving as if to pull away but then he almost immediately relaxed again. House knowing that a memory must be playing in his head. Cuddy gasped and from his position, House could just about see the skin closing – seemingly of its own accord.

Robert released Foreman, both breathing heavily – one from exertion, the other from shock. Cuddy grabbed Foreman’s hand to examine it.

“How…?”

“I don’t know how it works.” Robert replied tiredly, sinking back into his chair. House repressed the urge to fuss or order someone to get him a soda or something.

“That…what I saw…” Foreman started. Seeing Robert was fading fast, House jumped in.

“A genuine Robert Chase memory.” Foreman blinked, clearly wanting to find another answer but knowing deep down that it was the truth. Cuddy looked confused.

“What did I miss?”

“Foreman saw one of Robert’s memories.” Amber explained, a knowing look on her face. Wilson frowned and Amber turned to him. “I didn’t mention it because it’s, well, private.” Wilson’s frown deepened as he looked between Robert and Amber. House winced, that might become a problem later. They had higher priorities at the moment, however, so he turned to Cuddy.

“The memories are a way to manage the pain from the healing – trust me, it’s no picnic to do it without.”

“And still you insisted.” Robert muttered, closing his eyes.

“I wanted to watch. What kind of scientist would I be if I didn’t get data?”

“You do much experimenting?” Foreman asked, curiosity warning with censure. Cuddy sighed.

“You never went on vacation, did you?” House acting offended.

“I did…at Robert’s house.”

“It was loads of fun.” Robert added sardonically, eyes opening again. He swallowed and looked to Wilson. “There’s something else you should know. One of the other people who knew…it’s Andie Pieterse.” There was a stunned silence, only Amber not recognising the name. “She’s due for a check-up soon.” Robert went on and House’s temper flared.

“You idiot! You can’t heal every poor little cancer kid!”

“I haven’t.” Robert argued sadly.

“You’ll have to now.” House countered angrily, eying Wilson – who was still processing the information.

“When her striated muscles started showing signs of differentiation we just thought it was a delayed effect from the bone marrow transplant, it can happen sometimes…” He looked up, wonder in his eyes. “You’ve given her another two years, maybe more.” He broke off, laughing.

“No.” House said firmly. “You cannot use him as your personal tumour blaster.” Wilson did a double take and spluttered.

“I would never!” Amber tilted her head in doubt and Cuddy sighed.

“Yes, you would.” Turning to Robert and House, she said. “Who else knows?”

“No one else on this continent.” Robert confirmed.

“Well, I’m guessing as you’ve gone under the radar this long you don’t want anyone else to know. We’ll stick to House’s infection story and you should refrain from ‘healing’ anyone else for a while.”

“Or ever.” House interjected. Cuddy ignored him.

“Well, if we’re done here I better get back to it.”

“Wait, you’re not going to…you’ll keep my secret? No…conditions?” Robert asked suspiciously.

“As much as I would love to advertise that we have a magical healer at PPTH, I think it would be more trouble than it’s worth. I’m still struggling to believe it and I saw it with my own eyes.” She glanced at House for a moment and said in a lower tone. “Keep him still long enough so he can recover and get back to work and consider that repayment enough.” Robert nodded after Cuddy left, looked to Foreman, who had been examining his hand again. He lifted his gaze and caught Robert’s eye.

“What other things can you heal? Could you heal a brain?”

“I’m sorry, mental conditions are too complicated.”

“You stopped House’s seizure.” Wilson said but Robert shook his head.

“Because I knew what was happening – we were lucky I found then misfiring neurons so quickly.” He looked regretfully at Foreman.

“Alzheimer’s affects the whole brain.”

“But you could heal some of it.” Foreman insisted.

“I’d have no idea how anything I did would affect the rest of the brain. I could make things worse.”

“But you could try.” House snapped.

“Foreman! He’s not a performing monkey.” Foreman snarled right back.

“He healed your leg!” Stepping forward, he implored. “How long have we known each other?” House scoffed but Robert put a hand on his arm to stay any scathing retorts.

“Alzheimer’s is chronic and degenerative, even if I could do anything, it would only be temporary.”

“One day.” Foreman insisted, almost as feverish as he’d been when dying from an unknown affliction. “That’s all I ask.” Robert looked at House, clearly wavering in the face of Foreman’s plea – for the stoic neurologist to show such emotion…House understood how it was eroding Robert’s sense of self-preservation. Though that pillar of his character had apparently taken a beating lately, if his decision to stop his heart on Amber’s behalf was any indication. All the more reason not to give in here. House made to speak but Robert squeezed his arm. Reading Robert’s intention in his expression, House nodded – if House was the one to refuse, Foreman wouldn’t accept it. Solemnly, Robert said simply.

“One day wouldn’t be enough.”

“I just want one more conversation – the chance to tell her…” He cut himself off, as if becoming aware of how much he was revealing.

“Foreman.” Robert said kindly but firmly. “It will never be enough. Trust me, I’ve been there.” House slide his hand to Robert’s wrist to take his pulse.

“You need to go back to bed.”

“Slept enough.” Robert murmured, even as his eyes flickered.

“For someone with a secret power, you’re such a sucky liar.” House looked back at Foreman and recognised the look of someone backing down so they could re-group later. He said dangerously.

“None of you will ever approach him asking for favours. Ever.” Foreman crossed his arms.

“Except for you.”

“I offered.” Robert said sleepily. House narrowed his eyes.

“That’s done now. He’s healed as much of my leg as he ever will.” Robert made a noise but House shushed him. “I’m not giving up my parking space.”

“You’re hardly using your cane anymore.” Wilson pointed out.

“Shut up! Cuddy still has me under disabled – don’t give her any ideas!” Wilson opened his mouth but Amber interrupted.

“We’re all exhausted, perhaps we should stop for today.” Reluctantly, Wilson and Foreman agreed. As House was helping Robert up, she called. “I’m glad you’re alright.” Robert smiled a little.

“You too.”

“Alright, break it up you two. That’s enough sappiness for one day.” Annoyingly, the two just shared a knowing look but Robert let himself be lead away. When back in his own bed, he began cautiously.

“As much as I appreciate this guard dog routine…”

“Someone has to reign in this martyr complex you’ve suddenly developed.”

“It would have been worth-”

“No!” House all but shouted. “Don’t. Ever…No.” He managed. Robert stared at him before smiling for some reason.

“Okay.”

“You have to stay with me.” House reminded him petulantly.

“I will.” Robert promised, turning one of his palms up in an invitation. House pulled his chair closer and took his wrist, fingers over his pulse point. He stayed like that long after Robert had fallen into a peaceful sleep.

…

Despite missing working in the Diagnostics department, Chase opted to remain in Surgery under a baffled Dr Thomas. His and House’s relationship was too new and fragile to add employee/employer dynamics to it. If he was honest, Chase wasn’t sure they’d ever be able to handle that. The Head Surgeon had not appreciated his fellow’s strange and sudden heart attack and subsequent coma, but wasn’t annoyed or confused enough to fire him. Cuddy welcomed this decision – as she’d given up trying to get her head around the new relationship and had enough of a headache hiring a new head of the ER and arranging cover for Wilson’s patients. He was taking time off to be with Amber as she went through surgeries and dialysis until she was deemed strong enough to survive a kidney transplant – one of Wilson’s of course.

True to his word, Robert had kept House still long enough for the Diagnostician to heal and they were both back at work. 13, Kutner and Taub stayed and Chase was glad they seemed to buy the cover story and that House had a team he could trust and liked – as much as he tried to deny it.

Chase’s colleagues in the surgical department acted awkwardly around him. It was one thing to be known to sleep around – another to apparently have a heart attack due to an untreated STI. Humiliated but trying his best not to show it strangely made him nostalgic for his days working under House. Somethings – like shame in the workplace – never seemed to change.

One big improvement in his life, however, was his relationship with House. At first Chase had been unsure whether their conversation had been part of a dream or not. House’s protectiveness during the meeting shone through and his continued presence in defiance of keeping an apathetic facade clinched it. He and House had a…thing. A serious, long-term thing. They hadn’t exactly labelled it, but they had talked about their expectations a little – in their own way. Also, the updating of their agreement from leg healing to making out a lot was all the officialness Chase needed – at least at that moment. He was still sleeping deeply at night and feeling tired throughout most of the day.

After he’d been cleared of any danger of relapse, House had discharged him and taken him back to his place to sleep and laze around for days. They convalesced together in peace, neither bothering to bring up their changed relationship. They just added kissing to their usual hangout routine.

The night before their first day back at work, Chase had asked casually.

“So, how do you want to play it?” House had pretended to think about it.

“How would you describe christening Cuddy’s desk? Big enough statement?” Chase had rolled his eyes.

“Ha, ha.”

“Seriously, you’d looked good draped across all that dull paperwork.” He kissed Chase firmly, one hand squeezing that pert ass. “A big improvement.” He whispered. Chase hummed, rubbing his crotch slowly against House’s.

“Maybe save that for our anniversary.” Running a hand up the back of Chase’s shirt, House agreed.

“You’re right – don’t want to blow our load all at once.”

“I would have said peak too soon.”

“Enough innuendos.” House growled, tugging at Chase’s belt. They stumbled into House’s bed, half-undressed, soon giving up stripping completely in favour of getting their hands in each other’s pants. It was fast and dirty, both swallowing the other’s moans as they fumbled, rubbing and pulling and grinding. They came in quick succession and then lay entangled and spent and sticky.

After a while, House nudged Chase.

“Don’t sleep yet. Go get a wash cloth.” Chase groaned.

“You do it.”

“But I’m a cripple.”

“Not anymore.”

“More than you – you able-bodied ass.”

“I’ve just come out of a coma.” House’s grip on Chase’s shoulder tightened, but all he said was.

“Fine. We’ll just wake up stuck together.” Chase sighed dramatically and flailed as he got up.

“If you’re asleep when I get back, I’ll trip you up and make you chuck a brown eye at work tomorrow.”

“Sounds sexy!” House called after him, though he opened his eyes as Chase came back in and wiggled in a semi-helpful way. Eventually, they got relatively clean and dressed, tucked under the blankets. Chase was half-on top of House, head nestled in the crook of his neck.

“I know what they’ll say. What they’re saying already.” Chase began, House didn’t pause in stroking his arm.

“Standard jealous pleb stuff.”

“I don’t want to care.”

“But you do – you hapless people-pleaser.” Chase huffed but before he could speak House cut in. “Janitor’s closet. With Cameron.” Reluctantly, the young man conceded the point, though he mumbled.

“The sex was good.” House hissed like a cat which made Chase laugh. He propped his head on his hand so he could look at House as he said. “I don’t think there’s anyone better for me. Even if Cameron had been a serious thing, she’d have killed me with kindness and I would have disappointed her. You know me better.”

“This is all very well and good, but how are you perfect for me?”

“I love you the same as when you’re tearing me a new one as when you’re holding my hand. I won’t leave unless you cross the line we both agreed on.”

“Maybe you love me too much.” House muttered.

“Sorry,” Chase said teasingly, “I don’t remember inviting Wilson into our bed.” His eyes remained soft as he said. “That’s the hard part, keeping the balance.”

“I’m selfish.” House admitted quietly. “You could be doing incredible, world-changing work but I want you to myself.”

“Well, you have me to yourself by my choice.” House frowned at the simple statement.

“My needs come over yours.” Chase smiled and countered.

“Not true. If they did, you’d still be demanding I heal the rest of your leg.” House looked away.

“It’s still selfish – my needs have just changed.”

“You want me to be happy and healthy so I can love you the best I can. Our needs align.” Eyes narrowing, House looked back at him and accused.

“You’re oversimplifying it.” Chase kept his voice light as he argued.

“And you’re overcomplicating it.” House paused before changing track.

“You were the one worried about what people would think.”

“I don’t want to.”

“You will anyway. Accept that it will be awkward and move on.” Chase nodded, still embarrassed about his preoccupation with others’ opinions.

“Guess I can always come and visit you if I need a reminder of why we’re doing this.” House didn’t say anything. “I can, right?” House hummed and said absently.

“I’m just calculating the most shocking coming out we could do on short notice.” Chase relaxed and offered.

“Want me to jump out of a cake?” House’s eyes refocused and he asked seriously.

“You’d do that?” Chase shrugged.

“Kinda always wanted to try it.”

“What about your uptight boss? Not afraid to rustle more of his feathers?” Chase considered.

“Maybe a cake-jumping would be too much…at least for a while.” He shifted. “I had built up a solid rapport with him,” he sighed, “now he probably thinks I’m crazy.”

“Rapport? Did _he_ teach you that word?” House mocked him gently. Chase huffed a laugh and then laid his head back down on House’s chest.

“How about no plan? We go in together, kiss each other goodbye and go about our days.”

“Lull them into a false sense of security…I like it.” Chase hummed and squeezed House’s arm once before relaxing. Soon, they were both asleep.

…

In the end they never managed a dramatic, in-your-face gesture. Chase never suspected that House had purposefully stopped thinking of them as he didn’t want to make Chase’s relationship with his boss even more awkward. No, he had to make sure Chase stayed in Dr Thomas’ good books so he’d be able to learn all he needed to take over the Department one day.  Oh, the things House would be able to do with the Head of Surgery on his side. This was a long, long game.

He deigned to explain this devious plot to Wilson – who ruined it by misreading it as concern for Chase’s career.

“No.” House had corrected him. “It’s part of my insidious and ingenious takeover of the hospital. One day, without anyone even realising it, PPTH will be mine!” He’d laughed evilly, Wilson just rolling his eyes. House managed to dodge most of Wilson’s questions about dating a younger ex-employee, but he suffered through the cautious congratulations and then they dropped it.

…

For the first few weeks, things seemed to be returning to normal. Amber had convinced Wilson to start leaving her side for a few hours at a time so he could get a break – and so she could as well.

“There’s only so much handholding and heartfelt speeches I can take.” She’d told a sympathetic Cuddy. Whilst awkward, the team visited Amber often, all of them trying to put the past behind them and not spoilt ‘this gift’ as Kutner had surprised everyone by saying. She was on dialysis so she had muscle cramps and low blood pressure, feeling weak and listless a lot of the time, but she still kept track of who visited her – and who didn’t.

Unless he’d come in whilst she’d been sleeping, Robert hadn’t been by. From his memories and what she’d observed about him, he likely wouldn’t. In his shoes, she probably wouldn’t either. Wilson was being annoyingly hurt by the unintentional intimacy. Although she understood his wariness concerning the weird closeness between his girlfriend and the man who’d saved her life, Amber didn’t let it make her feel guilty. There were things she needed to say.

In the end it was House that convinced Robert to visit and keep Wilson away whilst he did.

“Just get it out of your system.” House had explained. “He can’t avoid this corridor forever anyway.”

Amber’s first thought on seeing him was that Robert looked a lot better than last time. Not as good as normal, but much improved. He greeted her awkwardly and asked how she was doing.

“You can read my charts.”

“Talking more about in your emotional well-being.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s polite.” Amber didn’t say that Robert fell back behind protocol (medical or social) when uncomfortable, instead changing tack. She said abruptly.

“I can never repay you-”

“I didn’t do it for you.” Robert interrupted, not looking her in the eye.

“I know that. I _saw_.” So she had seen his promise to House, probably the kiss too, judging by the soft look in her eyes. She huffed a laugh. “Just when I thought my relationship with House couldn’t get any more complicated.” Robert couldn’t help but laugh at that.

“I was going to say the same thing.”

“Yeah, I still can’t get over you two, and I lived it.”

“Part of it.” Robert corrected and Amber just smiled.

“Tell me you’ve done it already.” Robert blushed.

“You do not want to know if me and House have done it.” Amber’s smile widened despite her obvious tiredness.

“No, not really. I just want you guys to be disgustingly happy and most couples that are can’t help spewing intimate details to anyone within range.”

“You and Wilson that happy?” Amber sighed. She looked like she was going to dodge the question but then Robert gave her a look so she said concisely.

“We were. Things are just…we haven’t had a chance to talk properly. I’m still being put back together and he’s so busy supporting me.” Robert asked bluntly.

“You still want to be with him?” Amber answered immediately.

“Of course I do.” Robert waved a hand.

“I’m not really a great advice-giver but you almost died a few weeks ago so, just tell him how you feel. He’ll do the same and you’ll know where to go from there.” Amber furrowed her brow.

“Is that what you and House do?” Robert nodded and looked unimpressed by Amber’s disbelieving stare.

“I’m not saying it’s easy. Though I kind of have the advantage of knowing House for years already. As much as I try, I can never hide anything from him.”

“Except for your biggest secret.” Amber commented and Robert burst out suddenly.

“How much did you see?”

“Sure you want to know?”

“I thought I didn’t, but if you’re going to keep dropping stuff like that all the time…” Amber regarded him for a moment.

“You sure?” Sitting up straighter and squaring his shoulders, Robert said.

“Yeah, hit me.” Taking a deep breath, Amber listed.

“I saw you in the seminary, in med school, surfing, talking to House about your dad, healing his leg, partying in a gay club?” She paused for confirmation and he nodded reluctantly. “Everyone had a funny acc-” She cut herself off as she realised.

“Australia.” He said unnecessarily. She nodded and went on without further comment.

“Lots of you and House hanging out.” She smiled. “You can be a real sassy bitch when you want.” Robert’s lip curled up a little in acknowledgement of the compliment. “But no ‘good times’.” She finished, the relief evident underneath her gossipy tone. Robert felt a little out of his body as he said.

“Don’t get injured again.” Clearly wiped out she laid back, though her eyes twinkled.

“Done.” As much as he was uncomfortable with the emotional sharing, it was nice to have someone to talk to. Whilst House could tell how he was feeling, they didn’t usually acknowledge it as such. He got up.

“Guess I’ll see you around.”

“Yeah, I guess.” She agreed and he left to let her sleep.

…

Foreman cornered him in the observation room a few days later. Whilst Dr Thomas hadn’t fired Chase, he was definitely back down the list of people to call on for the interesting cases. His boss had also taken to suggesting he lie down every time they saw each other. Chase bore it silently, thankful that he was still included in surgeries at all. He’d worm his way back up the list in time. He wasn’t worried about that.

What he _was_ worried about was the expression on Foreman’s face.

“Chase.” His ex-colleague began. Chase held back a sigh. They’d gotten along so much better since he’d been fired, he might have even called them if not friends, then pre-friends. Now, Chase knew that he couldn’t give Foreman what he desperately wanted and that would change things. Briefly, he regretted that his carefully maintained secrecy had been lost, but then he pushed it down – no use wishing for things to be different.

“I can’t.” He stated as calmly as he could.

“You’re not even going to try?” Foreman asked incredulously, angrily.

“It’ll make things worse.”

“How can you be so sure if you’ve never tried it before?” Foreman took a menacing step forward and Chase forced himself to stay still, to keep relaxed. Foreman wouldn’t attack him here. Would he?

“It’s not how this works.” After a taught moment of silence, Foreman scoffed.

“Don’t tell me that you’ve gone from kiss-ass to complete door matt. You going to do everything House says from now on?” Refusing to rise to the bait, Chase said firmly.

“Foreman, I’m sorry, but my answer is final.”

“Screw you! Some friend you are!” Unable to resist the petty urge, especially in the face of Foreman’s anger, Chase snapped.

“Thought you hated me. Thought we’d never be friends.” Foreman’s eyes flashed.

“I do hate you. Everyone hates you. Even House hates you. He’s just using you and when he’s done, he’ll throw you away and you’ll be alone.” Trying to keep his expression emotionless, Chase swallowed and croaked.

“You done?”

“Yeah.” Foreman had returned to his tightly controlled self. “I’m done.” He left and Chase let out a long breath. He said to the empty room.

“Well, that could have gone better.” The sarcasm failed to stop his insides from squirming so he forced himself to turn back to the surgery and try to concentrate.

…

Meeting Wilson on the way to House’s office did not improve Chase’s mood. If anything, the look on Wilsons’ face threatened to ruin his day even more. He tried for a causal smile and nod, coupled with a fast walk. It was usually enough to imply he couldn’t stop to chat. Wilson ignored the signals, however, smile way too big to be natural.

“Chase.” He greeted enthusiastically and then paused. “Or do you prefer Robert?” Eying House’s office down the corridor, Chase answered absently.

“Chase is fine.” Something flickered on Wilson’s face but he just lowered his voice a little and asked.

“Can I talk to you? Just take a minute.” Sparing one last glance at that far away glass door, Chase conceded.

“Yeah, sure.” They went to Wilson’s office, Chase trying not to feel trapped.

“I saw Andie this morning.” Wilson began without any preamble, excitement bouncing around his frame. Chase’s stomach flipped. It could only be good news for her and he was happy about that – though the hungry look in the other man’s eye spelled trouble for himself. “She’s in complete remission!” The oncologist declared unnecessarily. Chase forced himself to smile.

“That’s great.”

“Great? It’s, well, a miracle!” Chase shifted uncomfortably. “Don’t you think it’s amazing?”

“Wilson-”

“It’s almost beyond words: how a terminal diagnosis can be turned around just like that.” He clicked his fingers and Chase scowled.

“It is _not_ that easy.” Wilson seemed to remember seeing Chase flat line when healing his girlfriend and agreed quickly.

“No, of course. It should only be used…sparingly.”

“Wilson.” Chase said more strongly. Something in his face seemed to cut through the other man’s enthusiasm and he deflated, saying imploringly.

“I’m not going to ask you to heal _all_ of my patients.”

“Good, because I’m not going to heal any more of them.” Wilson froze, mouth open at the bald statement. Chase didn’t break eye contact, though it was difficult to watch that shocked expression shift into a hardened stare.

“Why? Because House is scared to lose you?” Annoyed that everyone seemed to think the same thing, Chase folded his arms.

“I have my reasons, and I don’t appreciate the insinuation that I can’t make my own decisions.”

“You were healing people before-”

“Before I almost died.” Wilson hesitated but then rallied, lip curling.

“So that’s it? You’re going to let the others die?” He could walk out, Chase didn’t need to listen to Wilson, didn’t need to explain himself. It was that comforting thought which allowed him to relax slightly.

“She was meant to die. Amber, I felt it as soon as I touched her. There was so much…decay, so many dead cells, everywhere.” He shivered remembering it and Wilson turned green, but remained silent. “I didn’t just shrink a tumour or heal an organ. I changed her Fate.”

It was something he’d been thinking about more and more since he’d recovered. He’d gone against his instincts; had he also gone against God? Chase still believed that his power had been divinely given, even if he’d stopped seeing it as a blessing. He couldn’t heal anyone else until he’d figured out exactly what he’d done, how he’d sinned again. Had his desperate love for House defied the Natural Order? Had he tarnished his Immortal Soul?

It wasn’t something he could talk about with House – who would scoff and berate him for his faith. Wilson wasn’t a great substitute, biased as he was, but…In the end, he explained. “I need to work out what that means.” Hearing the implications, Wilson nodded in understanding. He sighed heavily, confessing.

“They keep dying.”

“I can’t imagine.” There was a hushed pause and then Wilson nodded once, locking his despair back away. Chase left through the balcony door, hopping over the divide into House’s balcony. House wasn’t in his office so he sat on one of the chairs, staring out at the city.

…

House found him sometime later. Chase blinked and asked.

“Solved it yet?”

“No. My team are idiots and all our theories were a bust.” He replied shortly, sitting down on the other chair. Chase smiled, causing House to frown. “And that’s good news for you because…?”

“Just nice not to be on the team of idiots.” House grumbled but didn’t snark back, instead steepling his fingers. Chase waited a minute before saying. “Not to add to your plate, but I think Wilson’s depressed.”

“He’s an oncologist, they’re always depressed.” House answered flippantly, but Chase read the concern in the way House’s shoulders tensed minutely. Then his eyes darkened. “He demanded you heal another of his patients.”

“Not specifically – and I’m a big boy, I don’t need you fighting my battles for me.” House mock-pouted as he relaxed back down.

“But I have a way with words – especially when I’m eviscerating my opponents.” Chase smiled again, got up and kissed House at the corner of his mouth. House turned his head as Chase pulled back. “You missed! You big…” He trailed off and Chase recognised that look. He got out of his lover’s way and let the warm feeling spread through his chest as he watched House hurry off to save someone’s life. He walked to the railing and looked out at the view again.

There were some things they would need to sort out, both between each other and with other people, but they were both alive and sane – mostly – and most importantly, happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Amber and Chase only had one scene together in the series (I think) but under the right conditions I believe they could have been friends.  
> Andie doesn’t have a surname in the show so I just used the actress’. Also disclaimer, all medical stuff comes from Wikipedia and my limited understanding of how things work so like, don’t sue me.  
> ‘chuck a brown eye’ is Aussie slang for ‘moon’
> 
> I have a boatload of other fics to get done now but at some point in the future I might get around to writing a proper sequel - inspiration permitting.  
> Thank you so much for reading!  
> :D

**Author's Note:**

> This fic came about when I read Palaserece's excellent fic after just watching the season 4 finale. The pieces fit together, a way to save Amber (spoilers) and bring Chase more into House's life during that season and beyond. Will be AU after we get to the season 4 finale.  
> Unbeta'd so let me know if you find any mistakes. Have made a conscious decision to put as little medicine in my House fics as possible to avoid having to do loads of research so if you're reading for that, sorry, there's like nothing; just the characters angsting all over the place.  
> Hope you like!  
> :D


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